This new dawn I
Stepped outside into scottish-like mist cool against my arms and face
Took me back to the moors, the dreer quiet mystical moors
Standing stones sentinels for a nearly lost breed of human
victims of Roman civilization
as cars slip swishing by on straight paved Roman roads
better to take twisty pine needled paths through dark woods,
large waterdrops from branchs accumulated from the mist shock as
they hit my face
ravens pass between treetrunks and hanging branches on some mission
perhaps on Druids bidding
I can only wish

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Index of new writing © 2004 Thomas Coleman
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