my grace
A warm, slanted light fills the world—
like a still gratitude in a well of peace,
as a tender shadow passes through,
reminding me of what I once dreamed of.
I stand in a meadow,
waist‑high grass holding me softly,
as if a spring I’ve forgotten.
The wind touches my face,
the grass leans into a faint whisper.
Silence drifts forward
as time goes—
towards a light that waits beyond.
Thank you for reading. See you next Monday.
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