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The river swirls, and sleepless birds insist
on raising carols to the early sky.
Your chairs, unoccupied and wrapped in mist,
are lonely now. Dawn comes, but only I
am here to welcome it. Can love endure
beyond this water-scarf that blows and drifts?
And do you see me waiting on this shore?
I sadly shake my head. Then, the fog lifts.
Brenda Tate
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comment | |
Collin Baxter | 02-Sep-2009 17:58 | |
Guest | 01-Sep-2009 20:49 | |
Guest | 01-Sep-2009 20:49 | |
Fred | 30-Aug-2009 22:38 | |
Fred | 30-Aug-2009 22:38 | |
Guest | 30-Aug-2009 20:27 | |
Shirley Haden | 29-Aug-2009 04:16 | |