August 10, 1988
I hear the crickets.
The evening is calm
After a frantic day of searching.
The air is warm,
But the breeze is soft,
And cool.
It is hard to remember
That the heat of the day
Was not a dream.
It is becoming a memory.
The only sign left
Is the sticky mass of people
Who spent this day
Helping strangers.
It has been a good day.
It will be a good evening.
It will be a good night.
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© 1998-2002 Debbie Palmer.
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