September 16, 2009
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This is the hour of silence,
a dream of days and nights linked together

like the soft hands of a mother and child.
The sky, soft, melting into the lakes of dawn, and
the relaxed lakes floating to mingle with the sky.

An ant turns over a small pebble, then scurries away,

leaving the rock alone, foreshadowed by the large hill in its wake;
blotted out against the sparkling night sky.

Now is the hour when the children sleep
and the moment between dawn and day,
where even the brave rooster doesn’t dare to

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