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Thanks for your kind words everyone. Thanks to BobC for posting my poem. I am so inept at such things.
The scissors man, by the way, still comes around. He has this bell that sounds heavy and loud. The coal man was still coming around my neighborhood in the very early sixties. My friends had coal heat and the truck would drive up and dump coal into a chute. It was neat. Unfortunately, this friend's house was demolished to make way for the Richmond Parkway. IT was so beautiful, nestled in the woods, with a wishing well, a brook nearby, and a picket fence. I'll never forget the horror I felt as a little girl knowing that some big brother could just come in and take your home away. They had a new home built not far away, but nothing could replace the lovely home they had, or the woods for that matter, either.
I just remember how scared I was when the bulldozers and cranes started invading. The smell of turned earth permeated the air. I can still see the clay earth in upheaval and roots sticking out from all angles, and the smell, the smell of earth disturbed, it was horrible. I hate what happened to my lovely island home. I guess that's why, when I became an adult , I moved to the North Shore, where communities were already built. I couldn't stand to see all that change.

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