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Humble

A lonely warbler sings his winter song.
Cheerfully he gathers all emotions.
But knowingly, he hears no other call.
The forest has nothing to say today.

The fields of gold grass dance the waltz.
One last leaf falls from some tree above.
Rays of sunshine peak around swinging branches.
And the day begins its long search for sleep.

Cold evening stars now thrust themselves upward.
Like the eyes of sinners looking for heaven.
The moon shows little distraction rising softly.
It brightens the very forest that is calm and silent.

I wonder back home watching shadows come alive.
A sense of peace and understanding with nature.
Like a child jumping in gathered curbside leaves.
I have been dressed with content and am humble.

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Langston Hughes

Dreams

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