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Walking Home In the Early Days

First you

then me

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then both of us

humming a song

left over from the late show

feet deep in the piled-up

leaves of good-time autumns

trees dripping their sweet rain

all around us

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your hand


lips sweet

as the sweet-falling rain

each of us singing

the old song one more time

then storing it away

to be taken out and listened to

in all our hard-time years.

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