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By Lyn Lifshin as the geese start to leave, orchards sagging. The wind near our old stucco house two streets away, steaming with apples. The bees go on, the geese remember iced ponds. When I slept in the top room with grey painted boards I heard horses, could smell honey in the clover wind as the bee man walked thru the hives, bees on his fingers, the moon's lemon light on their wings © Copyright 2004, Lyn Lifshin, All Rights Reserved. |
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Document last modified on: 09/28/2004