The Summer Sun

I’m writing about the summer sun.
The winter snow. I’m writing about the dying leaves and the falling stars.
The lost winds.
The moon has risen and yet the sun stands.
Her roots are taken, her body is left unattended.
In the hot summer, she cries for roots.
In the winter she freezes to sleep.
Her leaves have fallen, her branches no more.
The winds have no direction.
The stars could never return.
The sun burns the little she has.
It has no mercy on her, yet she does not wither.
Her body is all she had, but the winter proved her wrong.
She lays in between many, her roots taken.
her leaves are falling with the lost wind.

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