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And then, proud as a bushel

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I cannot know what I see to be so.

Alone, hearing, savagely fearing

I slip swallowed into confusion.

I wish I knew, unconfused

what I could do differently.

At bottom,

I have a heart that whimpers.

So, laughing through fearful tears,

I got me a shoe-shine to ride on,

And then, proud as a bushel,

Pulled my dead-heavy galoshes over

the softened hope and joy

I could see myself in.

April 8, 1967


Written by peterkrey

August 5, 2006 at 10:56 am

Posted in My Poems

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