The Glade

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Cool air whispers
up from the river

Cottonwood leaves lit from
below by lamplight,

shimmering silver against a
storm-wracked sea of stars

We shiver in silence
enthralled by their murmur

You pick out a star
Offer it to me

I pocket it and promise
to feed its fire

Fall fades to winter
Letters lie unanswered

Now I stand outside
on a moonless night

and search these unfamiliar skies
for that forgotten light

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