Your Majesty

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GrassI spoke with
mockingbird,
I heard it
clearly say,
“the morning salutes
your majesty.”
I turned to see
the way the wind
carried for this
praise, and
surprisingly it
landed right
on me.
I asked, but
why do you
surmise,
I, a kingly tale?
He squawked and
gently flew away.
And as I
turned to walk
away,
every blade of
grass saluted
the traces of
my feet.

image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net/michal marcol
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