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Poetic Stream
When angels took my love in dawn's white light,
I wallowed in the wake of fate gone wrong;
too weak to fight my demons in the night,
too numb to know the gift that was her song.
Like brittle leaves left dying in a field
I longed to rise on autumn's gusty breeze.
Without the gift of wisdom's words to wield
I searched for hope beneath unbending trees.
But soon I heard the rippling of a stream;
along its banks, I shed my deep dismay.
Enchanting verses smoothed the cracks and seams
and soothed my soul with sounds of words at play.
I never thought the gift of poetry
would bring the joy and peace that lives in me.
Copyright ©
Ron VanHooser
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