The First of Anything
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It dropped white suddenly,
As predicted.
The empty air embraced it;
Faced it
With the recognition
of love.
In the quiet
It would seem forever.
The birds knew.
We counted thirteen
In the closest tree.
Unsettled,
They seemed to dance
With the restless joy
Of children.
They knew
That what we think of
As the beginning,
Always comes in the middle.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2020
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