It is a low tide day.
Words come gently
and linger;
ideas lap in low rumbling trots.
It is a day of slow strolls
and being still along the edge
without turning back.
Nothing old gets returned,
swept up and dropped at our feet.
The other side is that much closer;
we might even touch
on low tide days
like these.
Words come gently
and linger;
ideas lap in low rumbling trots.
It is a day of slow strolls
and being still along the edge
without turning back.
Nothing old gets returned,
swept up and dropped at our feet.
The other side is that much closer;
we might even touch
on low tide days
like these.
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