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On the Oregon coast.

The wave come--the large fourth wave Looming up, thinking, crashing down--all Roll in so prominently I become small And write this in a cramped script, hard to read. Well, all this fury, prominent or not Is also hard to read, and the ducks don't help, Settling down in furry water, shaking Themselves, and then forgetting within a minute. Remembering the fury, it is up to us, even Though we feel small compared to the loose Ocean, to keep sailing and not land, And figure out what to say to our children.
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Author:Bly, Robert
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Jul 1, 1993
Words:91
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