Poetic Days

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Perhaps you wandered as lonely as a cloud, counted the ways you loved someone, heard a fly buzz, or ate all the grapes in the refrigerator. Maybe you pondered, weak and weary, or have promises to keep. Do you know why the caged bird sings, or that hope is the thing with feathers? And there was hardly a word to say because the raven, sitting on the placid bust, spoke only. So, if you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run, then I believe, my friend, that our fearful trip is done, even though we have miles to go before we sleep.

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For Muffintor47 because she gave me wonderful ideas to use for this book - like this chappie's title emotion (and following chapters to come soon, too)

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