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Poetry

The view from the crest
down to the river—
you stopping to say that
for three weeks each year
and beginning tomorrow
this will be the most beautiful
place in the city—brick-faced
buildings blushing in sunlight,
star magnolias building
and about to burst—
soon to be our bright badges,
medallions all the way down
to the water and beyond to
the “foil” Hopkins shook
and wrote about—a few days
of grandeur, hope, gratitude.


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