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Nature
I walk down the lane
The twilight -the gentle breeze....
The leaves are in conversation with the breeze
Probably enquiries about its cousins lying down?!
The slightly warm wind blows over the land
The leaves rustle -the dry leaves are in preparation for a ballet
A ballet with the wind
And I behold a group performance
The beauty in the lack of coordination
They dance -each one in its own style
A perfect fusion-
With many a novice relentlessly persistent
despite the many falls,
I witness a strange synchronization....
A perfect frame before me.
I had forgotten my inability to converse
and comprehend this alien dialect
I had forgotten my worldly existence.
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