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WHO CAN TOUCH THE SKY?
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A YOUNG POET In youth, castles are built of
sand,
Ever shifting and restless,
Somewhat as beach
combers.
Eventually a tide swept in,
Gathering them in angry
arms.
Whirling expectations to
sea.
Here of late, castles appear,
on high ground.
Undisturbed,
Who can touch the sky?
copyright heather burns
