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Walking The Dog
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I Walk Naked Into a Cloud
A grey day -
Sure, a fine soft morning -
wet on the wind with rippling circles
that dimple the overnight puddles.
Misty rain lacquers the fallen leaves
to glow under sodium light
and washes asphalt paths
to tarry blackness.
The waking city stirs.
The early cars rush by,
anxious to head the traffic jams,
before the parking place is filled;
while little dog sniffs among the leaves
and praises God by being.
