And from my morning window,
All the world had changed.
The mists are lifting;
The sun is slowly rising;
Deer have come to drink. .
Rain drips from the eaves;
Wet bricks glisten in the street.
The fire feels so good.
Life is never fair,
It is only reflective
Of what we make it.
Waves roll in to shore;
Each one follows another
To the end of time.
If there’s a heaven
Where do you think it begins?
And where does it end?
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