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The smell of fresh grass after it is cut,
A rainstorm leaves cool in the air,
I clutch the clouds with my fists,
And sink into the wetness with despair.
 
Daily tasks become too hard,
Brilliance by sunset never comes,
The soul wants to wither,
And heart wants to be done.
 
Each breath becomes a nightmare,
Each thought is clouded with grief,
Faith is shaken by heartache,
The pain in beyond belief.
 
Something shakes my turmoil,
A stirring occurs inside,
And I find the strength to waken,
And carry on despite.
 
The grass is wet after the rain,
It still needs to be done.
Comfort found in daily chores,
Until one day we become one.
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2 thoughts on “The Lawnmower

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