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July 9, 2011

Distracted by the imagined taste
of ripe Farmer’s Market tomatoes
I write poor poems and consider
abandoning my walk in the woods
in favor of rushing out to buy.
Luckily, it is possible to do both
as anyone can know.  Had I not 
gone to the woods I’d have missed 
the perfect morning light dancing 
among the cool leaves 
the bride and groom having their 
cheerful photograph taken on the bridge 
and the contagious exuberance
of my two dogs hurtling down the path.

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