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Archive for Sunday, February 15, 2004

Poet’s showcase

February 15, 2004

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The Whistle
By Lee Carlson

I hear strange sounds when I mow the lawn.
Above the engine roar,
Is that dad's whistle I hear?

Twilight drops like a thin veil
Over chattering children.
Oh darn, the whistle ...
Ordering us from
Neighborhood hiding places.
Homeward bound we straggle.

Light in the window. Warmth in the nook.
Family around the dining room table.
Coziness under a blanket.
Security in a prayer -- and rest.

I hear strange sounds.
My Father's whistle again --
Calling over din and clatter.
It's time to go ... Homeward bound!
No struggle.

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