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The Source - a poem


quick poem

The traffic from the freeway is

silenced by the majestic wave of trees

and the moon, a bit shy

has decided to sleep tonight

as do the neighbors next door

and I suppose about the town.

In larger cities there still may be lights

and some noise from the people on the streets,

the buses and cars electric in avenues

lined with cafes and music

and the couples dining

and the public fountains alive

with water

electric almost - shooting coils in the air,

the bulbs of bright coins

pooling in the shallow basins.


On another side of the planet

the first thin slivers of light

penetrate the curves of

the sky

and the bright

pristine rivers

slip through the dark crevices

of rock

and sing

as the sharp pebbles mature

into thin sands.

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