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Poem: Cycles


Funny how, after all the gray dawn coffees, the brushing of teeth, bedtime stories

it comes now to the opening and closing of the coop, the rattle of grain in the trough, rustling of sweet hay,

the swinging lantern in the dark to tell the circuit, the ever-tightening path from dawn to dusk, warmth into chill.

Perhaps the land called more  deeply than I knew.





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