Damme, is that a fence across the stream?
Beavered, perhaps, but, damme, it looks stout.
I shall be released some day, the big fish says,
But not to me. No ear for gospel, moi;
It’s something of a logjam where I sing,
Up there along the snowfall. A new growl
Foretells the coming breakup. There’s a line,
Current events, I guess, I shall not use,
But if I did, what I would catch would fit
The coming morning I have prophesied,
But will not live to see. If you should, do.
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