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A sweet breeze brushes my face;
A house is sun splashed.

Three dead trees stand tall;
Sun lights them like the others.
But they have no buds.

By the rushing stream
A rowboat lies on its side.
Its turn will come soon.

Glitter from mailbox:
Christmas ball turns in the sun.
Whisper of winter.

Beer bottles in woods:
Green glass glows in the sunlight.
Discarded jewels.

Blinding light flows down;
Narrow stream catches the sun.
It tinkles lightly.