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Poetry

01/03/2018

(Leigh Weber photo)

 

For The New Year

Dawn’s latest hues wash over the land.
Frost, like sheers, lays over windows.
Snowed roads are almost empty now.
Swallows flutter by in search of food.
The town is quiet, after the parties.
Life has moved inside, to the quiet
round the warmth of fond memories.
We are stilled with new resolutions.
But the stilled self is not complete.
Live whole — love children,
visit the lonely, ladle soup,
plant trees — any, any action
that holies our world this year.

By Michael Dallaire