Harlequin Walk

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On a sunny day I am having my harlequin walk down the street.
Devilish smile on my face, poem in my pocket. My heart is really elastic.
"Repent, Harlequin!" they shout.
Do I look like someone who cares?


Poem to Autumn

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Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg 

I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of 
the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first 
spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

The Chestnut Hunt

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Simple search for chestnuts can reveal far more than one expects...   Or as John Muir said:
“Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.”