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Daily Note
Every day, a photograph, a poem. Feeling old today. Feeling fresh today. An odd feeling. Sometimes I feel discarded, and yet I hope and am hopeful about the young, liberal, open people of today. I hear them in the news, speaking up for justice for all. I read their tweets. Oh, there are those who hold their guns up or shout loudly demanding some kind of distorted “liberty,” but mostly I look for the ones who stand firm in their faith of mankind to be caring for one another. I cede to and support them.

Today is Sunday, a day in which many of my CLmooc friends post a photo with no words. So I searched my archives for a Sunday / winter photo and found this image to post for #silentsunday. Then, I wrote a poem about the passage of time and work and toil— all eventually changed, discarded, but remembered in the pieces left.


by wind and rain
And heat of summer sun
Colors change white to gold to rust
Tossed and left from someone’s toil
Toil of years past, another time-
Moments change day to year to decades
And herald over silent scenes
By work to waste

Sheri Edwards
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Post 1018 days in a row

Sheri Edwards View All

Geeky Gramma ~~
Retired Middle School Language Arts/Media Teacher ~~
Writer and Thinker~~
Art from the Heart

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