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Poem 1: A Beginning

I sat and I wondered, to myself in my head, what shall I do before going to bed? "There's not much day left; there's no time ...

Friday, March 4, 2011

Poem 141: Friday

Friday is a day of breath, it marks the time of each week's death
when after, a vacation's left to lead with anxious rule.
Each Friday I stand by my kids, and realize this is all they get
until the next week comes along, all learning is over and gone.

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