Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
I had no need
Other than to walk
Or to write
To reinvigorate
My mind, my body
Even might I say my soul
Yet, in that moment
A cloud covered the sun
The light wavered
I waited, not for too too long
For soon, joy upon joy
The brightness returned
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