BUSYBODY
The snow is falling like nobody’s business—
So why am I writing about it?
It pirouettes beyond control,
Insistently whispering against my window pane:
Why don’t you just leave well enough alone?
Why can’t you just let snow be snow?
QUAKER BLOSSOMS I A Friend was Richard Galloway, But Samuel, his great grandson, Built Tulip Hill on th...
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