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Strings on Cellos

Gold pine cones on top of wheat were shivering
And outlines of life, like strings on cellos, quivering
A black beast drops through eaves to seize her and then squeeze her
And show God’s steady sketching hand will seizure at his leisure.

Some sickly green is seeping on the page I write,
Pouring from the pen with blue dye like the northern lights
And I’ll open wide my blue eyes and I’ll see her and believe her
Way of saying that true life calls is to see her green and leave her

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