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Monday, October 17, 2011

Sky collects Stars; I collect Hope

Stars are scattered all over the sky,
and they are pretty this way.

My hope is not scattered,
because it is not pretty this way.

 Neither is it shattered,
because I have control over it.

Someday will be a bright day,
and I will turn lovely again.

What is it that I cannot do?
I can, I will, and I have faith.

Bring me along,
faith bring me along.

Fresh air is abundant,
and I will fetch a gallon.

My lungs will open,
and collect all there is available.

I will be breezy and blithe,
and good and gay.

No more pieces are seen,
but one single quilt you feel.

Stars are collected by the sky,
and I collect my hope.

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