Wander softly of a morn
pausing here, stopping there
to drink of words
sometimes quenching mere thirst,
sometimes seeking a deeper thought.
Meander on
around the bend of metaphore
to perceive the fallen leaves or simile,
to pause, perhaps to lean
on the stonefence that stoically
has stood for a thousand years.
Sit upon the dew drenched earth--
face a study in shadow and light--
inhale the eons,
feel the ages,
hear the whispers
of hand upon stone.
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