Yesterday, I swept leaves from our deck and patio. This morning, I looked out and saw that both were in the process of being covered once again by the maple leaves falling from the dozen trees in our back yard.
Today, I approached yet another Sisyphean task: submitting poems to journals. Send them out. Get them back. Send them out again.
What makes you feel like Sisyphus?
Today, I approached yet another Sisyphean task: submitting poems to journals. Send them out. Get them back. Send them out again.
What makes you feel like Sisyphus?
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