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Poetry for the Moment

We sit on the hard benches,


Warm spring air

blows in through
the open doors.
daffodils nod.

“The Lord is my shepherd,”
he reads
from the big open book.
“I shall not want.”
His message is all about
that one word:



we want so much,

we see so little.
Open your eyes!
he cries.

We are blind to our desires,

is that what he is saying?

On the road outside,

which passes so near,
bikers stream past,
engines throbbing
with the wantonness of spring.
They pulse by,

each a single beat in a long song of freedom.

With our backs to the doors,


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