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The fire-colored butterflies
Flying drunkenly
Silently sipping on the budding milkweeds.
Snowflakes delicately falling
Landing on open mouths of youth.
The lake, calm and tranquil
Silently discovering the ocean.
The smallest trail of smoke
Making its way to the sky.
Fate isn’t sealed
Like an envelope,
Instead it guides
Like the rails on a cliff
To prevent falling
Into a never ending
Or the stars
Dotting the sky like freckles
To prevent the sailors
From stumbling into a whistling whirlpool.
Not all maps
Must be followed.

Found Maya Wolfford
Maya Wolfford, 13
Cincinnati, OH