Nearing November now,
sweet Julia, are you still
biting your nails?
The tea has become
interesting to study--
the charcoal of your face,
dusting cold off the page.
Oh Julia, my mind's
not right, is yours?
Are you up with your birds
too worried for words,
for weather, this time?
Let us drink tea again,
let me draw you while
you draw me now. Smile,
Julia, I want to sketch
those wrinkles around
your tilted eyes.
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