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© Joan Currie

A wagon stopped before the house; she heard
The heavy oilskins of the grocer’s man
Slapping against his legs. Of a sudden whirred
Her heart like a frightened partridge, and she ran
And slid the bolt, leaving his entrance free;
Sonnets from an Ungrafted Tree by Edna St. Vincent Millay 

My table is laden with the fecundity of the season.