Without Rhyme Or Reason

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Writing This


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It's quiet out; and peaceful,
Four a.m., and I can't sleep,
Fill my usual cup with coffee,
Watch rain glisten on the street,
The world outside is turning,
To the ticking of a clock,
But there's no one here to listen,
No one here to talk,
So I'm moving through the moments,
That gather round my head,
It's four a.m., and I can't sleep,
I'm writing this instead.



Linda S. Harnett, ©2010




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Writing This