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The Sky

The Sky
Maisy Mansell-Warren

It’s a wonderful, mysterious thing.
Sometimes it’s a perfect
deep sapphire, the sun piercing
through it like a beautiful
laser.

Other times, it’s hurt and bruised
with grey and green,
crying dull, cold tears.

It could be filled with rage,
storming angrily
through a grey canvas,
a billowing mass of dark magic.

Or maybe a gentle,
watery blue,
thin,
wispy white clouds
floating lazily around and whispering
to each other on a serene breeze.
Changeable, unreliable, unpredictable.
The sky

 

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