The poetic musings of a girl that has traveled far but gone no where.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
"Rust"
The hills are set in rust
like a great iron sheeting
accosted by winter’s reign.
The trees don’t look alive,
but like two-dimensional
tuffs in a Bob Ross painting.
I can’t stop thinking
about happy little trees.
Aleathia Drehmer 2006
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