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Sunday, April 20, 2008

Sonnet CXI

My house is one small world contained inside
a grey brick building I call Home, Sweet Home.
Each night the cultures via food collide:
we eat samosas, sushi, sour dough.
Each room becomes a different time zone – time
can vary from five minutes to much more.
Exchange of goods, ideas, good jokes, and sighs
occur at dinner time, as quick as prose.

A family’s a lot of fun, so is
a home to share it with. Except for bugs
that crawl inside and bug us till they die.
Or other buggers – telemarketers.
Despite the salesmen at the door, we hug
and share our tears and laughs until the night.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!