Contributor: Roberta Breetai

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The foggy dawn comes
unfolds as flowers do
as wet dew drops do
as they fold themselves anew
as they drop wet to
leaves, to grass,
as flowers do.

The fog beyond the glass is gray.
The sky beyond the fog is blue.
The night beyond the sky is black.

I journey from first to last
reliving the seasons
as flowers do.


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I live in Maine. My poems "Held me, you did" and "Yes. . ." have been published as part of my high school's newsletter.