By Wayne Campbell
The land still saturated from yesterday’s tears breathes in the freshness of morning, a welcome scent of survival.
The sun finds its way, piercing through the drenched earth’s sorrow, casting light on what endured.
Trees stand tall, though many leaves fell in battle.
Their silence speaks of resilience.
Birdsong returns in splendor, a chorus of life reclaiming its place.
Puddles shimmer mirrors of memory, scattered reminders of what passed.
Dark clouds, once heavy with grief, now drift with renewed purpose.
And calm, once taken for granted returns unassumingly.
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