Dew
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Drops of dew, the breath of morning,
trembling on slim blades of grass—
sunlight's warming hands shall reach to
dash these tiny beads of glass.
Dewdrops cannot last nor linger,
day must rend their whispers dry.
Those we love can't stay forever
here, between the earth and sky.
Just before the new day's dawning,
when the garden's wet with dew,
I step out, one barefoot moment,
just to feel the breath of you.
Copyright © Katharine L. Sparrow | Year Posted 2023
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