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Click hereBig hats on a windy day.
That's what we were.
Only trying to keep cool,
our heads together somehow,
observe and enjoy the parade
of days passing by.
But big hats, proud as we may,
can not hold still
against the simplest breeze.
And fluttering we swirled
in the sudden weather blush
of adventure,
forgetting our heads,
to soar for a while.
And we did, and big hats do,
and spun in madness
a second or two.
Before landing, always so.
Always fall,
into the muddiest puddle
of them all.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,500 poems.
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SJ may have got it right
But not everything austere feels right;
Sometimes the pleasure's in the frills
A little added sensual thrill.
Ignore him, sweetie. He can give good advice at times, but it's always wrapped in thorns. In this particular case it's not even good advice.
- Mindy