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Written by: Jane Kenyon | Biography
| Poems
 | Quotes |
 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.

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