The Window Poem by Louis Robert Samuels
The Window
With nose so pressed, as pressed could be,
A little boy keeps standing there,
And licks his lips, as if to say,
How longer yet to Christmas Day? With water seeping out his shoes.
And fingers crossed, as if to choose,
He waved his hand, and said... who knows!
Then went his way, but left his nose.
Thursday, January 2, 2003
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4/22/2024 8:27:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
