On a whim…

Life without whimsy is not much of a life at all; without it, a walk in the dark is no laughing matter.

Our Rest

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Crisp air, an autum breeze

Coverlet drawn to the chin.

A nap

Cool amongst dead leaves.

Our rest ends the summer days.

Written by David Wilkerson

6 March 2008 at 11:51 pm

Posted in metaphysics, poem

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