In this room, filled with quiet,
I am the happy victim of myself,
recalling the pink and orange of last light.
It’s a good place to remember,
to picture that scattering of gold,
buttercups in their brief witness;
to recall a trio of vultures
swinging along the mountain tops,
happy in their April thermals;
to hear again those words, large and small,
exchanged with the people I love,
to know once more that I am;
and give thanks for this day,
gathering all the goodness I call God.
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