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That gentle descent.
That familiar scent.
As your dressings descend,
In a chaotic dance.
Some floating.
Some shaking.
Some whipping,
And tripping,
And filling the air.

A carpet of auburn
Returns us to there.
A resting, arresting,
A calling of calm.
To gather, to tether.
We all hunker down.
A consolidation.
A lift and a fall.

S. Camplin

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