by Leonard M Hawkes

cold october—
storm threatening—
mid-morning, and I remember:

(it passes, some years,
busily unnoticed: lost in
the spending--time, money,
effort, preparation)

But I came here first this day—
this has been, this
is still my Gift.


Author's Note: The Friday of the Deer Hunt I first went to work.

Posted on 10/22/2010
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes

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