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The Noon Hour

Rating: 2.7

She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day’s pay.

Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat

Cool-moving things out of the free open ways:
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8/2/2021 6:06:05 PM # 1.0.0.667