Summer Morn
The future lies unwritten on
the blankest, blankest page.
I’m born today and, safe to say,
on track to boundless age.
At anchor in a harbor on
the leeward side of time,
engaged in making love to verse,
in making beauty rhyme--
the heart has placed before the eyes
what Gods of hope have borne,
a well of sweet serenity--
and love like summer morn.
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