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I picture myself a boy
as winter night
has drawn leaves of ice
on my box-room window.
A scratch of the pane
with the metal base
of a lead soldier, reveals
our first fall of snow...

(yes, we had ice on the inside
of windows in those days. None
of your namby, pamby vents
that blow warm air.
None of your radiators that glow
like some nuclear accident
Coal was the order of the day.
Black coal, hand chipped
from the hard-faced seams,
by miners with black faces
and crushed fathers).

Now my invention
of childhood play
would run riot.
With hands
like raw liver, I would slide
down the slippery slopes
of surrounding hills.
Skate on frozen lakes.

Even,
in the meadow
build a snowman...

and pick some Holly with Ivy.


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The following comments are for "A Few Memories"
by ograd77





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