Sunny living room, brisk breeze tossing the gold and red trees outside, windchimes clanging softly, cat and dog napping in their own places nearby.
"Morning Poem"
~Mary Oliver
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches--
and the ponds
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