The high tink of a pinball parlor half a block way,
the strong tenor of Spring owls caterwauling before dawn,
and the lightest skim of ice in a nearby rain barrel just about ready for phase change.
Memory is the cradle
endlessly rocking.


Stole it from Uncle Walty Whitman. He gave me permission to remix forever. What would he make of the world we live in? Something grand no doubt. @dogtrax

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