Best Poem of Hazel Durham

Butterfly Dance
She drift's around without luggage, living off a blank page
Without family, finding a time to bloom,
Raising her face to the sun,
As it embraces her desire to have fun,
In it's warm rays like her cherry topped days,
Her wild flower grows with a sweet scent,
Of her forgiving ways.



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The Last Dance
Holding our frail bodies now, on this short, straight trail,
Between the sunset, then the darkness,
Will crawl and fall,
Blackness sweeping out our eternal light,
Creases, wrinkles, but our eyes still hold our twinkle,
The band plays it's familiar songs,
As we long to stop time, before the crime,
Of . . .
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