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.

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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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