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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