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I tell him: "This is where Hemingway Loved to fish." He seems unimpressed, And I smile, Feeling it is As it should be. Somehow it seems small, For words don't swim Like salmon in the Fall Through coffee colored water, And poems don't hide Like trout in Spring In shadows under logs. We cross the river Over a walking bridge That sways with my steps, And he chides: "Walk softer!" I smile, feeling it is As it should be, And I walk softly. More poetry from Doug Tanoury & others at the Athens Avenue Poetry Circle |
