15

THERE is still light
piercing the
blinds,

it settles on the
soft spot
of the pillow

it hits the iris
of my eye

it says there is
a reason for
mornings

for mourning
for sorrow
for wings and buds
for rivers that keep on flowing
for the rain that finally stops.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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