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awake, I do, to a sunless sky
to clouds of gray
that disappear
as the day
goes by
I picnic by the bay, and stare
at mists that fade:
upward they float,
a white shade,
blue air
but now the sun is falling low
and once again
the fog is here...
only then
I go.
© 2005 Mary Barnett All Rights Reserved |
