The Dock

Moonbeam illuminate the worn path from the cabin to the lake.

Coffee brewing on the fire, steam rising in swirls.

“Hush,” he said as his arms embraced her.

The morning fog creates a curtain as sip from the canteen of love.

Damn the morning and what the concrete cities bring.

Fir trees line the path, shelve the doubt until tomorrow.

Love waits on the dock.

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