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On The Good
Walks
On the good walks
To the gate,
Those mornings with
No preoccupied thoughts
Or knots of worry
That in the scheme
Of things is nothing,
Those times when
Simply being part of all
There is makes time
Stand still,
At one with the dew
Dripping from the
Bamboo, the holly
Glistening in the
Light from the
Rising sun,
The run of notes
From the birds filling
Everything with an
Euphoric dancing
On the clouds
Condition,
On those walks
On those mornings
Mysteries are revealed
In ways words cannot explain.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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