Morning by Keith D AllisonThe flow of water
Moving gently over the rocks
The whispering of the pine
As a breeze touches the morning light
Upon the crest the snow sparkles
In the July sun
As the eyes look out upon
The flowers in the valley, grass
The serenity in the breath, of the new day
Yet I long for her hand
As the waters
Endlessly move to the sea
07/01/2006 Posted on 07/02/2006 Copyright © 2024 Keith D Allison
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