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there lives a spirit
 
under an ancient moon
 
that glides across a lake
 
 
entering the woods
 
finding a sleeping form
 
for its soul to take
 
 
like a silent breeze
 
placing a cold hand
 
you shudder yourself awake
 
 
burning with fear
 
and living that dream
 
peace with your god you make



 

Email ponart about this poem or pictures

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Full image: Hiking, 9/25/2009

Reference: Collection 9, Poem ID= 311

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