he sits,

sipping his tea

on a porch

before meadows

and mountains

familiar to his

voice and supplications,

under stars

and bright sun,

considering dreams,

some real

some reminders 

of a good life

with songs

brightly sung

and poetry,

the puzzle

of words,

that some

plainly grasp,

but for a few,

the message

remains deep

between the lines,

speaking to those

who know his voice


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