Morning Poem, December 28, 2015

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In the quiet of the morning

The books stand on the shelves

Waiting to inform, waiting to instruct

The collected wisdom of millenia

All in order and all within reach

Outside, the road is vacant, silent

Blackbirds perch in the bare maples

Like bees in a hive

It is not yet time to sing

The cold lawn seems itself rested

As if renewed

Every color is muted,

Waiting for the sun.

But I want time to stop here

In the ticking quiet

As the words pour onto the page

Making something out of nothing.

 

Copyright 2015

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