Who Am I? Six Questions.

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Who am I if not the sky falling down?
The weed tumbling around?
The grass on the ground?
The silence in the sound?

What am I if not a person loving art
That has been hit with a dart
And doesn't know where to start
To mend a broken heart?

How am I alive if not to love
To see people passing above
And below too, not getting rid of
What's flying free like a dove?

When am I going to die
If like a dove I must fly
To see the world passing by
And hear the sounds lightly sigh?

Where am I going to go
If my life is rolling slow
And the days just flow
While my life is a throw?

Why am I still here?
I ask that many times a year.
And though the answer is unclear,
I'm still flying with cheery fear.

Love, GABBY

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