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July 30
263/365

Irish Morn

Misty fog crept silently
Upon me as I slept
Dew upon my tent
Wet and soggy mess
But the morn of Ireland
Is gentle to the soul.
Where the sea breeze
Swirl softly over the high cliffs
And verdant meadows abound
When one ventures forth
To their ancestral home.

Irish Morn

Misty fog crept silently
Upon me as I slept
Dew upon my tent
Wet and soggy mess
But the morn of Ireland
Is gentle to the soul.
Where the sea breeze
Swirl softly over the high cliffs
And verdant meadows abound
When one ventures forth
To their ancestral home.

Karen Portzer

Seattle / Burien

 
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