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Home is a house that's in me,
the place where I begin me
Skip little skerry-boat
dance with the sea,
kiss the silver fishies
bring them home to me
I wanted to write something that sounded like an old rhyme
My fox of the hedgerows has silver white fur
a sleek and dangerous cunning cur,
nails like needles, teeth like splinters
I’ve heard him howl these many winters
Frost can be many things-to me it is a fox
Fat crows
hop the furrows
of a thin winter field
Everyone starts out naked,
without baggage, direction, or will,
carrying nothing but promise,
and a big empty suitcase to fill
Who can know
just where the water flows,
we can only ride
travelling with the tide,
life is a journey
however brief,
each of us sailing
a helpless spinning leaf
Postcard memories,
a sky too blue
and a sea too green,
shown in brighter colours
than they ever could have been
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