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BOOKS IN A WINDOW
Day before yesterday
There was a moving shadow
in
That second-story apartment,
Vacant for months.
As I strode by,
The curtain was brushed
aside.
A hasty stack of five
or six books
Appeared on the window
sill
And the curtain swung
closed again.
One was old, leather-bound
and
Inches thick.
Only one was a paperback.
Yesterday, they were still
there,
Waiting stoically,
The way books do.
Today they were gone.
Someone, settling in,
Has found a proper place
for them.
Someone I’d probably like
to know.
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