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A shaft of sunbeam through the morning mists,
A idea in the midst of jumbled moil,
A clear direction in the swamp of lists,
An evidence of outcome of our toil.

The tuneful call of a single bird,
In the rustle of the reeds and ripple sounds,
The landmark, the clear defining word,
That clarifies, halts me, turns me around.

Word that separates the truth from errors,
That brings life's possibilities to light,
And, instead of condemnation shares
The power to make the wrong or chaos right.

12/17/2011 Carol Morfitt

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