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Tripping


tripping_march2011At times I trip out of my spin

And climb to the top tick-tock

I am thinking of fallen decades

And I know somewhere joy stopped.

The chimes stop for a midnight pause

A snug rest from the drum-beaten throbs

Twelve o’clock and I go ahead

Joy is somewhere but now it seems dead.

My mind catches peaks of the past

I close my wet eyes with regret

Pull a blanket over mistakes

And wonder why joy was lost.

The kitten curls up to be near

My dog snuggles close to this babe

They give warmth to the frosty night

And the three of us drowse on the bed.

So I smile and know it is true

That petals of joy do revive --

A warmth that is soft as the breeze

When it comes from the tap of a touch.

By Jeannette Saylor

primi sui motori con e-max

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