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Gray muted morning
creeps forth on fairy wings
and the soft, moist green
stirs with the bare hint of wind...
...vision though blurred,
reads the forest through hazy detail.
Warm foggy tendrils
trace gently upon my face
as God's hand reaches down to
comfort and caress my disheartened soul.

K.Tate Jacoby
copyright Sept. 8, 2002
(revised Nov. 20, 2005)

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