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Who Who
An owl this morningHooting in the dark backyardSnow Snow tomorrow
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Patience
thunder at midnightrain pounds the windowpane for hoursmorning brings warm sunshine
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The Last Day in January.
It was Sunday. It snowed all day. I was reminded of the last paragraph of “The Dead” by James Joyce, widely considered to be his best short story, called by the New York Times “just about the finest short story in the English language” and by T.S. Eliot as one of the greatest short stories…
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Cleaning The Gutters
Cleaning the gutters Late November The season of the witch All the leaves have fallen To the ground And into the gutters Only birds in the trees Bluejays and sparrows The warm days of picnics Past