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In briefer and less depressing poetry: Carl Sandburg, "Fog"
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Rock on, Carl Sandburg, who, I should mention, has absolutely no relation to my current icon.
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Rock on, Carl Sandburg, who, I should mention, has absolutely no relation to my current icon.