Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Each of them, arms raised
around the center, the connected circle
individual petals of the coneflower
clothed in pastel, muted purple,
the sacred dancers
of the silent ballet

Rising from their dormancy
up, up, into the light
an opening coil, the dancers stretching
to the ends of their fingertips
in their movement singing in praise


July 4, 2009
this morning,
after weeks of rain

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