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Those Winter SundaysRobert HaydenSundays too my father got up earlyThe speaker’s father gets up early everydayand put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,It is usually cold when the speaker’s father gets dressedthen with cracked hands that achedfrom labor in the weekday weather madeThe speaker’s father’s hands usually hurt from everyday work, but he still lightsthe firebanked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.No one ever thanks the father for the fire.I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.The speaker wakes up to crackling woodWhen the rooms were warm, he’d call,
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English,Poetry,Dress,The Speaker,Speaker of the United States House of Representatives,The Chronic,wake