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Slow for the sake of flowers as they turn

Toward sunlight, graceful as a line of sail

Coming into the wind. Slow for the mill-

Wheel's heft and plummet, for the chug and churn

Of water as it gathers, for the frail

Half-life of spraylets as they toss and spill.


For all that lags and eases, all that shows

The winding-downward and diminished scale

Of days declining to a twilit chill,

Breathe quietly, release into repose:

Be still.


R.S. Gwynn



From No Word of Farewell: Poems 1970-2000, Story Line
Press, (c) 2001.  Used by permission of the author.

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