the gold thread of dawn
arrives on wings of finches
clings softly to hope
summer with her doe eyed ladies
how willing are they
to hold up the light all the live long day.
and when night falls-as darkness will,
all the blooming bows to
a bowl of stars
another bounty of willingness
to
shine.shine.shine.
xo
welcome to
even in our darkest hour
may we cling to hope
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