I run into the hands of nature…

I run into the hands of nature,

With withered trees watching;

So many beautiful eyes,

On weird looking faces,

Staring at me,

Doing their chores,

Unmindful of the beauty,

That stands before them;

I stand there,

With a pencil in my hand,

Looking at the first ray of sunshine,

Hoping for my conscious to clear,

With the beginning of a new day…

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