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Daily poems from my hexagon shaped cabin overlooking a lovely trout pond

 Dawn and the pond

is still and quiet.

Last night I saw the sliver

of the moon

shining on the water.

It was dark

and I was looking down,

not up

as if the water was the sky.

But now,

as morning comes

and the clouds float

across the pond

and the trees,

turning red and yellow

in October’s air

paint themselves on the water,

I smile at their art,


to have this dawn.

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