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the south

smell the honeysuckle that hangs heavy on the air.
lending the heat a fragrent scent
every thing is green sprays of purple
blue, and cold

Like a great grandmother
stands the great old live oak
The air intoxicating
lazy, heavy, sweet
hiding the danger that lurks
behind the heat

For in an instant
the fragrant dry
southern air

can spark a wildfire
Written by shadowsfallsoftly
Published
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