‘Twas a cold November morning from my platform on a pine
I noticed through the tangled woods a moving, horizontal line
The line became a shadow as it moved into the light
Then, at last, it took a form as it flicked a tail of white
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A mesmerizing poem and story Richard! ! You missed that tall rack, but you racked up a 10 for this write! ! *10*! ! ! Best regards, Friend Thad