(x = space)

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Contemplatives Are Due on Maple Street

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God speaks to me each day, though

I must admit

II don’t know what that means

I mean

Sometimes I hear the words

Sometimes it’s a nudge

I suppose a shove would be too much

I’d lose the love in that

And think it

Something else with chagrin

(and from the gravel)

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I’d like to be an everyday sort of mystic

The kind a hobbit might accept

Have food,

A glass of wine,

Smoke a pipe

Then listen for the words that the

Spirit dictates

And hope I’m not sent to Mordor

On assignment

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A contemplative with wide windows

Sunlight, nighttime

Time for clouds

All through which to contemplate

World enough and time

As the saying goes

From Andrew Marvell’s poem

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This would do for a style

It would keep me in the suburbs

Or small towns,

In cities or on farms or

Or in other places near

Or far away

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C L Couch

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Photo by Ali Inay on Unsplash

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