Sit with me
On my sun-lit porch.
We will have morning tea
And listen to the breeze
Stir the willows
Long, graceful limbs.
Beyond my yard
The river burbles
In its private language
Speaking to itself
Like a soul
Locked in mystery.
We need no attempt
At bright conversation.
Sit with me.
Birds on a wire
Remain silent
Until some unknown urge
Rouses and sends them.
Until that happens
Sit with me.
Isn’t the sun warm
On our shoulders
And the breeze soft
In our hair?
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