Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
This poem is in the public domain.
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River Roads
Let the crows go by hawking their caw and caw.
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Let ’em hawk their caw and caw.
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Beat, old heart, these are the old bars
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Beat here like the old winter winds
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Old grizzlies, eagles, buffalo,
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Plow over bars of sea plowing,
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sit in the saddles and say it, sea riders.
1922