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Time flies

Time flies. Seasons overlap. Years vanish on the wind, like smoke from an untended fire. A year ago, as summer began, I started to write one last novel. The more things change...   henrymitchellbooks.com

Up on Balsam...


Up on Balsam, Richard and I

sat on his front porch talking

of past lives and auto repair;

His house was full of music

and some of it we could see.

 

henrymitchellbooks.com

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