Lady of the lake….
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We loved the weeping willows trees by the lake, we loved the month of July and August. Once I wanted death and my lady of the lake, whispered a sweet song to me.
“Do words matter?
What are we?
Maybe we are just, here for a second,
maybe we are just dancers upon the wind,
waiting for a reason to be alive.
Dear Poet,
dance with me near the weeping willow tree,
Lets, become like the free and wild dandelions,
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The Reluctant Poet 