Hour 10 – Waiting


Sitting on the dock,
like a shelf over the night-stilled lake,
sipping my canteen of coffee
I wait 

Waiting for the frogs to sing again
Waiting for the damn fog to lift
Waiting for the moonbeams to return
Waiting, but for what? 

In the hush of the wind through the fir trees I hear it:
Your time will come -
Be at peace


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