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Punctuation of a Summer's Night
The end of the day was marked by mist shadowing on the lawn as light faded. We sat on the porch and watched as gathering dusk erased sunset's pastel promises. Over a glass of Spanish wine we discussed old poets, rhyme schemes and the obscurities of James Joyce. Summer evenings can still one's tongue. The moment almost demands savoring the silence. In a sigh, I suggest - "They ought to build a monument to Joyce, using all the punctuation he left out."
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