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Archive for August, 2007

TWO POEMS BY MARGARET D. SMITH
Pavel talks to me over lunch
My farmhouse is away, so far from Prague
there are no planes, not even cars.
You can hear everything that way.
The pigeons make love on rooftops,
workers talk in fields,
bees make sounds like music far off.
My grandfather loved bees.
He left Prague to live in that farmhouse
to raise bees: [...]

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