Sharon Morgan

October, 1962 - (London)
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The Breeze

What is the breeze that rocks the leaves
That shades the blades of grass beneath my feet
And swiftly shiver to-and-fro, from gusts of air which shoot without intent
But breathes on clouds, which race within the clear blue sky,
To win the race, where raindrops burst and thank the sun,
for rays and glows, which bring relief and light
and life, to trees, leaves, grass and sea, and me.
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