Well, whodathunkit,
another year, still here,
an everyday amazement,
to me as much as you,
it's 2020, far as I can see,
at this stage, far enough;
Early Dark tales, booked
by spring;  that Millicent,
my elusive Winged Child,
first draft done and deep
rewrite for winter's work;
Poems flying here, there,
across cold wide water,
searching for a summer.

Henry's books.


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