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By Julie L. Moore

Regard the swing,
the sage oak seems to say
as I walk past,

breeze shimmying the leaves,
smoke from a nearby leaf fire
ruffling the air--its fragrance

billowing--the wooden plank
still amid the commotion,
fists of hemp clenched beneath,

arms steady, shouldered
by the strong bough

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Document last modified on: 12/03/2006

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