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At First Light
Sometimes when the first light
Of morning is softly kissing,
As if waking the waters of
Discovery Passage,
And the grass is still damp
From its wild affair with night,
The early gulls air floating below
A lone eagle circling high in the sky,
The salty ocean like a lover’s fingers
Gently massaging the sand, the rocks,
All waiting for the sun to rise
And rub its eyes over Quadra Island,
Sometimes at first light a mystic shiver
Travels my spine as I sit on the shore
At the edge of Campbell River.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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