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By John I. Blair

I sent my letter for the holidays
Again this afternoon.

I try to make it cheery as I can,
Knowing that I hide as much
As what I choose to tell,
Or more:

Smiling photos,
Cute cats,
Bright flowers
In last year’s garden.

Nothing of the pain,
The illness,
World half-crazy.

And each year
I get a certain number back
Marked “undeliverable”

Knowing that some
Future sunny afternoon
I’ll find myself
Undeliverable as well.

©2019 John I. Blair, 12/26/2019

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