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Cynthia A Clampitt's Writings

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Poem
Nov.23.2009
The knife-edged air cuts through the day,                         and severs leaves from trees. A seeming blizzard descends, fluttering, rising on a gust,             like dying, golden butterflies. The red-tinged, careless scattering of yellow leaves             looks like a carpet by Monet -- no even strokes,                         but splashes that the eye...