Icarus

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There are soft clucks from the hens,

Occasional murmurs from the goats,

Even faint hymns hummed by the harvester.


Peering over the unending clouds,

The lap of the waves on the shore soothe those near,

Even the breeze coming off the humble sea seems serene.


The smell of a freshly cut pasture,

Guided by the salty sea air, could relax

Even the livestock milling about.

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