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QuillOak

Lyric Poem · Hope

The First Blank Page

by The QuillOak Editors

The calendar turns over

to a clean, untroubled white —

three hundred sixty-five new mornings,

none of them yet written.

Whatever last year cost you,

set the ledger down.

The page is blank. The pen is yours.

Begin. The ink is dry.

Original poem © QuillOak — free for personal use.

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