by Russell EdsonOne day an old poem is carried away by the wind. Its poet is relieved, now he won't have to be nice to it anymore. The poem was always too good to throw away, yet, not good enough to publish. It lived with him demanding to be reconsidered every so often. But, even so, he sees that he's not to be rid of the old poem, the wind in reverse has returned it to his desk. The old poem is glad to be home, and wants to be read again. The poet reads it and realizes once again that it's too good to be thrown away. Perhaps, he thinks, he'll send it out in the next mail, knowing, of course, that he won't; and that he'll have to go on being nice to it for the rest of his life. . . .
