(recreated?)
Her voice rose from the canyon like jazz.
"I Like The Sunrise . . . . "
Her voice soaring like the light over the horizon.
A wobble, a zig, a zag, a tremor.
Then a ready perfect pilot, turning the note into sunshine, averting us from danger.
Her voice rose from the canyon like jazz.
"I Like The Sunrise . . . . "
Her voice soaring like the light over the horizon.
A wobble, a zig, a zag, a tremor.
Then a ready perfect pilot, turning the note into sunshine, averting us from danger.
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