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August 3, 2011

Auden's Always Apt

From the narrow window of my fourth floor room

I smoke into the night, and watch reflections

Stretch in the harbour. In the houses

The little pianos are closed, and a clock strikes,

And all sway forward on the dangerous flood

Of history, that never sleeps or dies,

And held one moment, burns the hand.

Posted by Vanderleun at August 3, 2011 12:29 PM. This is an entry on the sideblog of American Digest: Check it out.

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