A poem.

Mime Like the mime
he shapes his peace,
moving slow as summer rivers,
between intended pauses.
Across the water at its edge –
that line parting dense foliage
from the still dark marsh –
this bright streak steps and stalks,
his graceful "S"
stretching to a thin white line:
elusive great egret
halting me on the path.
Marilyn Peretti

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