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In preparation for the lean season,
I gather my memories. Some ripe
and sweet as childhood, others
in neglected, unwatered corners,
withered and stone-hard. Some
offer themselves freely, some hide
in thistles and thorns. This basket
grows heavy. Winter is coming.
But not today.
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nice.
Posted by: maryjane | 05 June 2017 at 02:13 AM