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Apr 2012
It gets harder for me to be
Away from you, every day. This
Summer was the first I hadn’t
Come to visit, since first we
Met. I feel something’s amiss, you
Must too.  I think of the (I’m saddened),

Boats droning by on the lake at
Your door. We stayed still to watch.
I know you remember the last
Time, at night; we saw a bat;
It was too hard for us to catch;
You sat on rocks and I on grass

And we pretended that week would
Last all summer. Still, that Sunday
Came and I had to pack my things.
It rained, you cried, I misunderstood
Why I had to leave you. Blue jays
Lamented our parting with folded wings,

Helping both of us to subdue
Our sorrows. But you still smell,
Like a certain musty, expressive style,
And the only things I wanted to do
were run around you, raising hell,
And glance around for your smile

Shared with all who could begin
To catch it glinting from your eyes.
You never turn those windows away,
Shut your curtains only when
We leave your wooden feet and thighs,
Proudly formed foundations, on Sundays.
N R Whyte
Written by
N R Whyte  Toronto
   John Mahoney
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