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Out Here

By Wil C. Fry, July 26, 1999, 22:15

Copyright © 1999 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.


Out here
    breathing the air that is ages old
But still clean
And the waters trickle gently on,
    out to the sea
From where they will return to wet this land

Out here
    I feel the love of the soil for the sky
The rain and the sun
And the creatures of Earth still roam free
    without a care
Without fear or complication or confusion

Out here
    breathing the scent that rises from your mouth
Your hair, your skin
And your fingers are touching me
    your words I hear
Bringing tears of joy to a sad and lonely soul

Out here
    I cannot think or breathe or sleep
Without you near
Your presence in my life — even a glimpse from afar
    tickles my fancy
And I know that I have — FINALLY — won the Prize.



For K.L.M.



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