Poetry from the Writer of Light for Wednesday, March 19, 2008

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Wednesday, March 19, 2008

THIRTY-NINE YEARS SEVEN MONTHS

THIRTY-NINE YEARS SEVEN MONTHS Clock ticks for no one. Only ghosts and memories live here now. Baskets and collectibles viewed by only occasional flies. No dog, only random sheddings. No talk or laughter, just the unheard echoes. Giants games on the radio gone like the Polo Grounds. No smell or... Sign in to see full entry.

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