Sand Dollar of Hope

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Depression should take two steps toward
The grains of sand, the freshly cut green grass -
It should feel the sand squishing between its toes,
Where smiles control frowns,
Where the sun shines brighter than a single star
In the night sky in New Mexico on a peaceful summer night.
Depression should watch the little boy
Feed the seagulls and pigeons,
Watch the little boy’s grin stretch left to right,
As the horizon blankets over the blue ocean.
Depression should slightly open one drape,
And let the sunlight beam through the
Dusty, broken windows,
Just to let his eyes sting, but not cringe in terror.
But, with that one beam of light –
That one stream of brightness,
Depression would wince at the thought of the little boy
Throwing that sand-dollar as hard as he could
Into the deep, dark, blue ocean,
Where depression would search and search,
But never find that sand-dollar,
The sand-dollar of hope.





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