Sometimes a poem comes around at the perfect time. Last week, I walked into my yard in the morning and stepped into wet grass. All around me were these little patches that looked like fine spider webs. But when I brushed my fingers through them, I found they were actually just webs of morning dew. It made me so happy that I actually giggled. And then, just a couple days later, this poem showed up on the Writer's Almanac. What luck!
Dew, by Robert Morgan
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