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Oct 2020
Whenever I put the phone down
To go walking,
To work the soil,
To garden,

Or ride some river road
Beneath trees,
Feel the breeze...

I realize with Frost
That nothing gold can stay,
That the witching light of screens
Takes fleeting gold away.
Carpe Deim!
Don Bouchard
Written by
Don Bouchard  61/M/Minnesota
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