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Sunday, September 5, 2004


Hop by: Boris Pasternak
Under a broom, entwined by ivy,
From rain, we're hiding for the time.
A cloak protects our shoulders slightly,
My arms around you are entwined.
I'm wrong. Around these thicket shrubs
Not ivy, but green hop has widened.
So, should we spread this cloak, perhaps,
Over the grass, for us to lie on?

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