saved by injured flowers

ferns swaying in wind, 
dancing trees in air,
they all rejoice at the elements,
grass becomes greener at rain,
and after a thunderstorm comes rainbows.

won't you rest your bones with me?
i promise not to introduce them to the skeleton
who's escaped his closet and ran off to wander the bedroom.

and in this world, we choose to wax poetic
about words and their properties,
and i am a writer, so i see no problem with that. 

yet some people find themselves bowled over
by coherent sentence structure,
this is not their salvation,
but it is mine. 

The End

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