The Poet Sleeps

The ocean looks good today seagulls take the wind to sandcastle fortresses, it's time for a celebration. And the Grandfather clock in my oaken living room, its hands turning famously the heavy chimes beaming its tick-arithmetic gentle voice clock mahogany sparkling, stands carefully listening to a cat who's recently eaten purring on the fat chair, an African orange parrot reciting from an open TV Guide, and a tired little boy who snores quiet ly beside a half-finished bowl of "Cheerios."

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