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“Don’t want to be you!”
“Wish I could go back to you…”
“Fat chance, you old man!”
Dry snow sidewinding
Brown fawn resting on softwood
Doe promises Spring
docile, complacent —
letting life sail on its own
chance upon a map
…
purposeful steering
keep the rudder true again
but this ship won’t do
Warm morning calm breeze
Rotten apples smell like Fall
Winter can’t intrude
Winter past in mind
Cold fingers afraid to touch
Warm breeze thaws the heart