From a good friend who has many talents and one of them is poetry.
The room is quiet
The trees are bare
The fire burns in the morning air
The birds are sleeping
No sound at all but the fire and the wind
The forest choir does not sing
In that air in the world between
The waters still at rest in a dream that goes past
And yet the tombs of the ancients still stand
In a deep slumber of the time that once was theirs
To wake is their dream from a deep slumber
By Brendon Durbin
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