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The sunlight
now flooding the valley
after three weeks
of steady rain with no slits in the
clouds, no patches of light,
must be a sign.
With one hand
I grab my guitar,
with the other
I begin scribbling a tale
about the distant waterfall.
fed by the recent rains,
that keeps thundering into an abyss.
I could have drifted
into darkness,
been swallowed by deep waters,
if sunlight had not
come to the valley again.
This is my tale,
this is my song.
Sing with me.


Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #162
More Poetry Pantry #404 at Poets United