Those Winter SundaysSundays too my father got up earlyand put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,then with cracked hands that achedfrom labor in the weekday weather madebanked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.I’d wake and hear the cold splintering,breaking.Whenthe rooms were warm, he’d call,
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English-language films,Hip hop music,The Chronic,Robert Hayden,Winter Sundays