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The Only Man in the World Who Knows Nothing about How to Cure the Coronavirus or the Economy Recuses Himself
“Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim”
-Masefield
The book is put aside, the cigar is lit
Old scotch rolled thoughtfully within the glass
As fireflies flit among the apple trees
And Cat carnivorously craves a careless bird
Sweet April’s evening air is exactly right
I could bring the portable radio outside
For a little light jazz – or maybe not
The firstling stars are musical enough
To accompany the memories, and, yes,
Masefield says it ever so much better
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