Softly she whispers,
“I breathe out the magic sun”
Song of Deborah.
She tilts her tears back
Moon glow glides her silhouette
Diana’s Tango.
Dancing sun in trees
Lures me into skirts and snares
Hearts chiseled in bark.
Sit and be silent
The trees will say what needs said
The trees do not speak.
Sun sparkled temple
Magic twig in her pocket
Old witch in a pew.
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