Yet another poem

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What is magic, if it’s not…

The air that we draw in.
The blood that runs through the veins.
The gravity that makes us fall.
The flowers that make things right.
The blue of crystal clear water.
The flames that turn us into ash.
The lingering smell of fresh pancakes.
The things that go bump in the night.
The frantic beating of an excited heart.
The lovely eggs of the mama birds.
The tranquil nighttime sky.

Well… this is similar to the one I wrote yesterday, but I felt I liked this version more. Although I do like that one too..

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