I felt like writing a poem
In the middle of the night
The ideas came scrambling
But soon after, took flight.
A molting nomad came along
In time and delayed
It flit about and went away
Yet gave me words that stayed.
Day 32 of 108
When the first of January falls in the middle of the week, you can really see the artifice of the concept of a 'New Year'. It become...
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