A Rhyme Within
The Rhymes of our Lives
A fanciful brush, in wisps to push,
reds and yellows in hues, upon blues,
the morning's light, steals from the night,
to shout the dawn's finest news.
The bright, in its flight, contradicts dark's might,
in the spreading of its new day,
While birds all play, in songs to say,
and in awakening from a sleep. "is May"!.
The early chill, to linger still, as in fond memories,
a cherished time of Springs,
As with my pole, I stand, upon the lake so grand,
absorbing the wealth it all brings.
Not to catch a fish, so much my wish,
as in being here, in this wonderful place,
No finer beauty for us all to behold,
and one that is so freely given, by grace.
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