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What Your Cousin Davey Knew

What Your Cousin Davey Knew
Do you think your cousin Davey knew, When he suddenly died at 62, That the time he sat on his front porch After supper, Under the Summer Triangle, When the air was finally cooling off—           God it was a hot one— his thoughts drowned out By the katydids and cricket calls, The trilling owl and far-away yelp Of the coyotes, Answered by the rising bay of his hounds In their compound just behind the Clapboard house—           Missing a few shingles           And a shutter or two— Things he just hadn’t gotten around to fixing Quite yet;

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