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Written by: Jane Kenyon | Biography
 All day the blanket snapped and swelled
on the line, roused by a hot spring wind....
 From there it witnessed the first sparrow,
early flies lifting their sticky feet,
and a green haze on the south-sloping hills.
Clouds rose over the mountain....At dusk
I took the blanket in, and we slept,
restless, under its fragrant weight.