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Thanksgiving
In the dark stillness of night
I do not hear the fraught cries
Of the captive, praying for mercy
I hear the breathing of Freedom.
In the light broadness of day
I do not see those slowly tormented,
And shredded by claws of the fiendish
I see the manifestations of Liberty.
On a cold winter's day,
I do not huddle in a cramped corner
To escape the frosty bite of the Northern
I wrap myself in blankets of Bounty.
In the middle of each appointed day,
I do not seek golden morsels
In the haven of dumpsters
I consume the sacraments of Abundance.
And as each new day dawns,
I do not seek the hand of a stranger,
To keep loneliness at bay
I grasp the hands of my steadfast friends.
And for these blessings, Oh God, I am thankful!
By Sharon Frye
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