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Sonnet #3
[Portage, September 10, 2009]

Tumblers stuffed with rocks revolve and spin
Countless stones too numerous to count
My patience is starting to wear thin
We have enough to build two mounts.<

We worked like crows to find such pretties
When we first began to haunt far beaches
Yet another trip north leaves me quite leery
Of Lake Superior’s rock-strewn reaches.

Day and night I grind those glorious rocks
All the seasons of each year, fearing cold,
My pals insist its all a crock
Man this work’s really getting very old.

Next time we look for things we can do
I’ll suggest Bordeaux and then a screw.


 
 
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