the coming storm
obscures the light
of lifted lamp
and golden door;
without our beacon
burning bright,
our land grows dark
from shore to shore.
–photo by me
the coming storm (archives)
the coming storm
obscures the light
of lifted lamp
and golden door;
without our beacon
burning bright,
our land grows dark
from shore to shore.
–photo by me
I love the rhythm of those stanzas!
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Thank you very much, Darryl!
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