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To Hold The Morning Light

To Hold The Morning Light

Dawn dips her hands in paint of gold,
And sweeps them 'cross the sky;
Next come the pink and crimson bold,
And colors run to dry.

A young child reaches out her hands,
Her fingers snatch the beams;
She flings them shining 'cross the land,
Which they waken from dreams.



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Page Created 3/29/20
Last Modified 3/29/20