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Soccer Field Poetry

Trees so tall, they tickle the blue, blue,

cloudless feet of the sky.

One blue picnic table under a tree

with leaves so green,

it looks like God took a paint

brush to its beautiful surface.

Oh, how to be metal worn table,

warm in spring sun.

The way a table can make many feel

almost as one,

in pure togetherness.

Oh! and all the beautiful people.

Many walk with purpose, a place to be,

a place to go.

Others sit and watch as the majority

walks and runs around a tired

field.

People that are tall,

short.

Some stand with pride, other slouch in despair.

Many have insecurities that taunt them into

believing all that others say.

But in truth most spoken things

are lies.

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