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In a bit of synchronicity I came across this quote today for a friend who's cat passed.

Fog
By Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Dead Cat Bounce?

Sorry for the cat!

Is it possible that the fiat mess transforms us into lovers of poetry again? Nice

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Why not? :)

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Sounds good to me.

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