The Wait

pieces of water,
their molecules colluding with each other,
keep their secrets close
and adamantly lounge within their tender home.

far away in the mountains, an old forlorn tree,
her branches stooped and fragile,
and almost on fire in the June heat,
wait for them to move.

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About Aditi

My thoughts are who I am and I am what my thoughts make me.
This entry was posted in Flow, Mountains, Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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