no harm
the surge is in the leaves
raising the voice of multitudes
above my head
while here below
I kneel on the flagstone
drawing water from the barrel
the air swirls gentle over me
my hair my arm
as if to say
no harm will come to you
no harm
the surge is in the leaves
raising the voice of multitudes
above my head
while here below
I kneel on the flagstone
drawing water from the barrel
the air swirls gentle over me
my hair my arm
as if to say
no harm will come to you
no harm
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Lisa B King. All rights reserved.
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