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Untitled, Anon

Poem by Anon, Year 9

I was the fire, turning crimson orange, roaring,
I was the river, flowing through valleys, mountains and ending up in the sea.
I was the wind, carving the land.

I was the bird soaring the sky and feeling the protective stare of my ancestors
I was the seabed and many many enslaved Africans lie on my sheet.

I was the light drifting though the open window - the same light seen by billions of others. Free.

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