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Traces
Each day is filled with tiny traces
Like footprints of a deer in snow
Or silky snail tracks in small places
And crab holes when the tide is low
Each breath exhaled and new step taken
Leaves markings not to be erased
Small cherished patterns fain forsaken
In nature’s cunning woven lace
The crumbs that fall from modest tables
Are soon retrieved by little ants
A spider’s web the stuff of fables
Embraces woodland’s lushest plants
We make a difference as we wander
Among the throng and rush of day
Our every movement filled with wonder
Touched by a gentle force at play
When pride and prejudice surround us
And things are quite beyond control
Just look at lowly trusting creatures
Their humble ways refresh the soul
No need to faint when your tracks wither
In heat of sun and loss of hope
That pearly snail keeps creeping hither
While deer and crabs still run and grope
Each day we live we leave small traces
Like footprints of a deer in snow
Or silky snail tracks in small places
Or crab holes when the tide is low.
poem
by
Liilia Talts Morrison
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