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View From The Charles River

By Wayne Hogan / February 21, 1995



Stilled, the thin

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slip of a cedar shell

rocking there quietly

like nudged jello in the swell

of the setting sun, the tips

of its oars held tight

by the fine young hands

of the lone rower, the red

bandanna wrapped across her brow

a signal somehow, her fine

young eyes turned upriver

casting their spell

over the soft glow of the

spinning stars and Chinese lanterns

dancing on the black-as-marble

water, the jasmine scent

of sweet briar and wild roses

echoing the night.