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A kite

Flying high

A long string tail

Clutched in Youth’s hopeful hand

Chasing a dream.


Winds of change

Blowing me about

Shall I? Can I?

Grasp the high ideal

And chase another dream?

Wilma Gundy

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At the time I wrote this poem I was retiring and I attempted to convey my anxiety about what I might be able to do. As I reflect back, I believe I did okay.

It was the first of the poems I wrote about the months of the year.


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