THE COMING OF WINTER

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    THE COMING OF WINTER

    up in the morning i take a short stroll
    down along that street that birds own
    the morning a time their melodies roll
    and dew water drops as the sun brightness show

    today as i walked a deep breath i took
    and wondered why it smelt of summer so soon
    but why? we still have hot summer noons
    and santas time but a few moons

    memories of many winters then came by
    how of many things i used to buy
    and in all my parols always fly
    a jolly good moment in its time

    how natural it was then that i prayed
    that i see this winter just a few months away
    and hoping that i wake up that day
    to a brand new year and changed ways

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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