Saturday, February 28, 2009

Little Spring Poem

The light played with the morning dew on the leaves of the old oak tree.
The cookoo sang a bright new day and I opened my eyes.
I heard the flowers talk about the honey and the bees.
Birds were nesting in trees.
The water of the creek hurried back to the sea.
The sun was shining on my skin like it was just for me.
I was laying there for a while when I felt a sensation on my face.
It was a smile.

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