Just a Harebell

Just a harebell
dancing in a breeze
at the foot of a hill

softly sipping
at her roots, water
that for a while
ran as a river

tears from the face of her father
the great herdsman
who turns his face to the storm
and the clouds cry

for a dancing harebell
who calls herself “just”
yet it is she

for whom they all are
herdsman and river and storm.

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posted on SubStack.