Sitting on a moss covered rock
and seething with the early morning chill,
I watch the misty tendrils
rising over the still waters, placid
beneath the spiritous, dancing forms.

The newly born rays, golden,
over the mountains
crest, color the dark depths
of the sky.

The song of a mocking bird follows
my concious, wandering mind through
the forest,
across the river,
climbing the mountains rise,
to the bright heights,
where I send it seeking in far distant places
for you,
my love.


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