THE GREEN

 

 

The clouds brush the water.

Pink blends with green.

The crooked tree prays.

But it can’t be seen.

 

A rower drifts alone,

Held aloft by the green.

A fantasy world held close.

But it can’t be seen.

THE DEAD DANCE

 

 

The Dead are dancing.

Swooping down with joy.

They love Oasis.

Florida belongs to them.

They rule the night.

Lightning follows in their wake.

Thunder blows its trumpet.

We bow to their might.

THE DEAD GAME

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