Black
Black are the days of slate grey skieswhen there is no sun to fill my eyesblacker still, were I among the northern Inuitwhen to shorter seasons there are briefer summersin the Artic chill...But the...
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Quote:seasons still change, however awkwardlyand still we press on... *sigh*Enjoy your splashes of rhyme...Wanda
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one sees the onslought of telemarketing centers sprawling even northward...yikes!
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Oh, how homesick this makes me. I remember the quiet nights when the aurora hummed and I could actually hear it. I remember the nights the ice cracked and the flows were set adrift. I have an image of...
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