Poem: All You Hear Is a Squeak | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
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Poem: All You Hear Is a Squeak 

The creaking as the wind holds the door open.
The breeze pushes back the yellow tipped grass with a swish.
As you gaze out the window you see your own reflection.
You reach out to touch it
but all you feel is the firm flat surface of glass
and all you hear is a squeak.

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