As requested in the comments on this post, a poem of my own.
Spin
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Whenever light is dim, there is always The sound of crows confabulating.
Mornings are different from evenings only By old accidents of spin
direction. If a...
1 week ago
3 comments:
Thanks, John! That's a poem I wish I'd written.
I mean, I wish I was the author of that poem.
You know what I mean.
You're welcome. I know what you mean. Thanks.
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