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Oh, Sense that I would be most loath to part:
to think what joy, what expression lent to me,
that I would know the lifting, moving of my heart,
in the scene, the object, the countenance I see.

The downy fluff of baby chick or lamb,
a gentle glow or sparkle of some special eyes,
that tells me I am prized for what I am,
and discloses a glad heart given undisguised.

The verdant greenness to a spring-starved soul,
as woodland turns from skeleton to lace,
home planned to greet family or red carpet roll,
the lamplight at the door, the welcome face.

The sunrise heralding the day in hue,
with vivid red bordered by vibrant gold,
subtle pink and peach-edged white clouds askew;
day wakens with such splendor we would hold.

The sense--again--I would so hate to lose:
can it be so? Protected by the study and the skill,
of those who direct their talent, resources to use,
.the gift of our protected vision to fulfill.

So, dear doctors, who devote your lives,
to enable us to avoid the faltering of sight,
thanks, you stand against the infirmity that strives,
and preserve the vital sense that gives us light.

@05/10/2017 Carol Welch
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