In the gloaming

and Lord,
if my spirit returns,
let it be in feather, fur, or fin,
your creations in the wilding
whose years seem short to us
but are unburdened with evil thoughts
and care not for the praise of others
they look to live a life
always in the now
having scant worry for the future
and none of the past’s regrets
and when the weathers are fair
they are so free
and knowing naught of care
they look to Thee.

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