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04 November 2004


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The day after the election
winter strikes.
Our morning tears
weaken the sun
like watery glass.

By five in the afternoon
only the most distant sky
glimmers pale blue
through the reedy trees,
tall and leafless.

It will be a cold dark night
with worse to follow.
The onset was too sudden
to even think of blankets
or stacking wood.

Maybe in a week
the shock will wear off
and we'll remember
how to breathe
so it doesn’t hurt.


You wonderful job with that poem. Hope your friend gets better.

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