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By Tracey Smyth12, Belfast, Northern Ireland / August 30, 1982

She floats above us in sunny-wet, Her colors iridescent, With stars, on her never ending tour Of circles all florescent. Of miracles, and laughter too, Of birds' eternal song, She never stops her joyous spree, But laughs, and carries on. She is an infinite circular flower With petals all aglow, She never does anything wrong She would not stoop so low. She flickers in a momentary spin And after circling the sky She whispers her sweet, ''Adieu,'' And gracefully says, ''Goodbye.''

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