The Lost Days
We are casualties
of the season,
like onions and potatoes
sequestered in the damp
cellar recesses.
Instead of kisses
we sniffle at each other
and sit confined
to a cough and a sneeze, lethargic
as cats. Projects
sit dormant
and scattered
’til Spring.
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Paperback https://www.amazon.com/dp/194073620X
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