A streak of rosy gold
behind black pines:
the grace of a day beginning.
The silence of a Sunday morning
with lilacs in exquisite bloom
and a squirrel moving under the bush:
time passes and releases
the fragrance of memory
and ghosts of the past.
A Day’s Grace
What a gift you have to be able to express yourself so eloquently in words! Barb
Sent from my iPhone
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