Thursday, December 09, 2004

A Poem Draft


The chill in the air
makes softly pale
the light that shines in my soul;
but each coming day
is never the same
as the one that went before:

the sun in its course
may shine with new force
when a new day is finally here -
all praise for the sun
for when that day is come
our troubles will be easy to bear!

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