As the crimson flame of life
Breaks slowly
Above the horizon,
The white, frosted meadows,
With trees and hedgerows
Of sculptured ice,
Speak loudly
Of your presence.
Once more
Upon this journey,
As another day begins,
Without effort
Or intrusion,
Through the peace
And tranquillity
Of your silent voice,
The moment becomes eternal,
And the journey
Begins again.
Chris posts his writing on Silent Flight Publications.
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