Thursday, October 8, 2015

Dawn


Fresh new day.
Birds fly south with tidings of their journey.
We're dug in up north hoping for snow.
Feeling light grow we dream blue.
We're not missing sleep, or million dollar deals, 
or mates, or fame, or flattery. 
Peace rises like dawn from the dark side of the world 
and from the sweet song of our beating hearts.
Good morning.

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