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Rhythm

Come, sit with me and watch the dance

Of the Seasons;

See our graceful mother spin her magic

Yet again.


How deftly she balances the Sun

And the Moon

As she calls new life up from the depths

Where it has slumbered

These many months

In the sacred dark

Waiting.


Watch her paint the ground and the trees

With color,

Feel the gentle, guiding touch of her hand

In each new blossom,

And hear her song in the call

Of every bird and beast

Proclaiming their right

To this home

We share.

How foolish it suddenly seems

To merely observe.

For are we not dancers?

We feel the call and must move

In rhythm

With this glorious company.



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