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Clouds

Slowly sauntering down the street
A little boy with his little hat,
His little hands, and his little feet
Gazes wide-eyed at his surroundings.

A bald black man with a gray beard
Lies lazily on the icy ground,
Waiting for a charitable being
To add a coin to his cup of life.

Hearing the rare chink of change
The bald man opens his eyes,
Seeing a little boy, finger in mouth,
Smiling the innocent smile of a child.

Two strangers play the game of life,
One the giver of change,
The other the giver of gratitude.
Unaware, the clouds pass overhead.

Jeremy Andrew Miller

 


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