A poem for the Early To Rise book

Shadows in Prescott by http://www.sxc.hu/profile/aveyinc

 

Morning

I ran into a friend and saw he was in a rush
I told him of a place pure, pregnant with wisdom and time.
He scoffed and waved his hand to dismiss.
He said that place had no power.
He claimed to be a person of the later hours.
He admitted he had never been to where I invited him.
He had never felt the peace of its solitude and stillness.
He rushed away, late as usual.
He needed more time.
Exactly what I had offered.
Exactly what is available to him every day.
Exactly what he had dismissed the moment before.

 

 

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