Quiet SongEmma Ramey
They are all outside, with flowers. Not for me but each other. Not for me but the wind. The one window just above ground. I see foot upon foot, see them all as they hear my tune and throw each bouquet high into the air. I don’t need to see it, the movement of each foot saying it all, saying who am I to wish for anything, who am I to do anything but watch each flower wave goodbye.
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