We hope.

We can only hope.

That one day

we’ll be gazing

in awe

at the same sunrise.

That we’ll hear the same

“first bird”

heralding the big dawn.

That we’ll hear the first rain drops

of an early morning shower

on the tin roof.

And the dawn and the first bird

and the rain drops

will inspire us,

we poets, we weavers

of big dreams and tightly woven myths.

Continue the series:

of Big Dreams and Tightly Woven Myths.

by you
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