Other Ideas
When we recite out our
Expectations, that is when
We slip our grip.
Winter snivels its way through
Mumbling to itself.
Unsure of much except
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How well a stagnant water
Rots the boards.
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This post is part of a new poetry series, "" -- daily poetry and photos, inspired by where we live.
The posts for January are part of an international small stone writing project "The River of Stones."
Read more small stones on Twitter at the #smallstone hashtag. You can find me on Twitter @smallstate.
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