Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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woods whispers

once home directly to the woods
downhill into the shadowed green
ecstatic dogs all tails and lopes

they move from spot to spot
datamining smells and sounds
and leave their marks

feet silent on the needle drop
my harmony almost restored
ankles softly kissed by ferns

_______________________________
a shortling to celebrate the gift of having woods to lift the day off my shoulders.

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