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Poetry for the Moment

Poetry for the Moment
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we cannot see them,we can hardly hear
our man’s words:
“He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters.
He restores. . . .”

Like hungry animals,
the engines snarl,growl and snort

in crescendo.

On and on.
We wait.
There must be hundreds
on this Sunday jaunt.

The wild cacophony wanes.

Diminuendo.

The bikes are headed to
their Jerusalem,

the perfume of spring

their rod,
their passion their staff.

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