I send you a letter, I love the time of writing
And then forget
Next day another phrase catches my ear
Though let us not call it an internal rhyme
We talked of the Camera Obscura
A photograph with a thousand points of view
There through the window, out over the valley
One mile, more or less, away from the ford
In summers heat, perspiration brings
The muddled befuddled mind
To slow down, or jump in the pool
With or without question
In the letter I hoped for a reply
Did you
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