Streamside
From the middle of the forest,
Where the moon rises. Where the moon sets
On the treeline that blankets the woodland floor
From the roaring waterfall. From the clear river
Beside the worn deer trail. At the edge of the road. By the cabin,
the woodcutters home, the useless rusty chainsaw, the stacked
redwood logs
You thought I'd succumb to rejection.
But here I am. I look in my heart. And my heart is strong
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