Washington Interlude - Poem by Sheena Blackhall
The Mall sat at the hub of things.
The Hirshhorn, with its fountain
Of naked water, a spiritual oasis.
Gold days under the needle tower
Were a lucky strike. A shifting tableaux,
Tents and trees and sun.
The shy smile of melons luscious as Judy Garland's lips,
Old Glory hanging from every second wall
The red shoes of squirrels tap-dancing through the leaves
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You