by David Leigh
Thursday, November 07, 2002
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How still, the waters seem to sleep.
Protected by the Emerald quilt.
Secrets gathered in the deep
collected. memories, pain and guilt.
A place where lovers are discreet.
The old man walks his dog at dawn.
This sheltered refuge from the heat.
A cradle where a song is born.
Every soul that feels the power
Possessively keeps it to himself.
But only has it for an hour
One cannot own it's spiritual wealth.