Whispers adorn the sky

Chilling winds and dying, breathy voices

The road is a blackboard

With essays of footprints written upon it

The air is still

As are the trees

But the sky is not

The sky talks mindlessly to someone

It murmurs and mutters

Supported by the Earth

Pressured by Space

The sky is home to the brain of a flower

The flower is red

Some say the colo...

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