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November
Do you remember
Your favourite November?
Are you crazy, she smiled,
After eighty years
Months get rolled
Into that ball
Called the past,
Like night dreams,
You know that you’ve
Had them, but try as you might,
You cannot bring them to mind,
Oh there are sparks
In that ball here
And there,
But which month
Which November?
I don’t spend time
Playing in yesterday
Or wandering in tomorrow,
Getting my walker
Through the doors
And over the streets,
Keeps my feet on
The ground.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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