Bialczak does it again. Poetry about icicles.
If I don’t get out there with the shovel right quick, my dear wife Karen will have to bob and weave when she walks out to her car a few minutes from now.
Yes, this time I’m talking using the shovel reaching up.
On the roof of our side porch right this 7:53 a.m. second hang icicles. You can see how they look out of the window over our stove.
One of them is rather long today, feet long, don’t fall on my foot long.
And I knocked their cousins down yesterday at this time. That was a day of growing.
Out back, meanwhile, is this sight of towering pines. They sit rather majestically past the fence line, in…
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