Fallen hearts glad

There we were

swaying

in a snug swing

 

Watching the west

from our friend’s parent’s porch

the most hospitable folks

even in their absence

trusting

 

We had nothing to do

to read, to go to, to be, to talk about

nothing to do but be alive

 

We drank wine

and watched the birch row swaying in

come what may

and laughed at being alive

 

At being full up. To the brim. With love.

Author: Michael Kloss

There is a Sunday conscience, as well as a Sunday coat; and those who make religion a secondary concern put the coat and conscience carefully by to put on only once a week. - Charles Dickens

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