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Four disparate country thoughts

By Nancy J. Wallace / August 19, 2002



Walking in the garden

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massages my feet.

Scent of wild rose

smells sugary sweet

like a pink and white swirl

of airborne candy cane.

By night the fireflies

are electric snowflakes drifting

on a hay-scented breeze.

By day the clack clack clacking

of the old man's tractor

leaves snowpiles of clover

in its lees.

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