Micropoetry 7-27-2020

in the morning mist
where all that lies ahead
is written in the brushstrokes
of a weary man

the children play where we reside
while we pray for the world outside

sitting in a chair
as he waits for the time
somewhere undefined

discussing the Book
with one who looks
the other way

soft as wind
have fallen
in my favorite corner
where the day begins


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