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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

Weeds?


"Weeds," the neighbor says. "You should cut those."

They don't look like weeds to the bees,

but pretty soon, I'll cut them close

when they get up around my knees.


henrymitchellbooks.com

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