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Friday, September 20, 2024

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The Ruffled Wreath

By David Hovan Check

It’s there! 

Adorning the door 

With its remnants of years, 

Showing the ice and snow 

A flicker of warmth 

Borne of its aging boughs, 

Letting its dry needles 

Bless the firmament 

Where they fall, 

A dash of dignity 

Never deserting their purpose, 

Their having been part 

Of a fullness 

That will never let go 

No matter how far their needles scatter 

In the winter wind. 

 

Check writes from North Wildwood. 

Spout Off

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