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Harvest Moon.

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The moon cries.

Anger dripping from her eyes.

She's pounding her fists

on the table

cracking

shattering

the table collapses.

Her milky glow has been replaced with 

a dreamsicle orange.

That was injected during dreamy summers.

In fields of golden grain.

She's now in full view.

There's no hiding from her.

She's 

resilient 

bright.

Her scars

are oceans

of deep history.

She's beautiful. 

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