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Evening Pond

By
Pale wisps of fog

drift gently;
Silver ghosts above

the pond,
Gliding through trees

and light…
Into the skies

beyond.
Serene is the

blue air...
That of which the trees

inhale,
Twilight glows

soft and sweet
Upon the water
frail.
Shadowed trees

Grow quietly
In this world of

liquid glass…
Where water sleeps

and willows weep
And time
will never pass.





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