Anton's Ideas

Anton Wills-Eve on world news & random ideas

Category: poetry/verse

NEVER ASK WHY


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/well-i-never-2/”>Well, I Never…</a>

never ask why!

NEVER  ASK  WHY

The sun shines on the fields and sighs

It misses the rain, and is so hot it cries.

The ice, freezing on winter’s rooftops white

Slides off, to melt on kitchen kettles bright.

 

 

In the desert, sands die in the heat of sands,

And woolen mits cannot protect little icy hands.

Never does the dying nightingale sing so sweet

As next the dying pauper on the midnight seat.

 

 

Oh, why must morning have to stave off night?

And why are lovers left to love as parents fight?

Why does this, our world,  its contrary mysteries keep

’til we only understand  them as we fall forever alseep?

Anton Wills-Eve

LOOK AT ME, NO DON’T TURN AWAY.


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/festivus-for-the-rest-of-us/”>Festivus for the Rest of Us</a>

A poem first the medal later.

 

LOOK AT ME, NO DON’T TURN AWAY.
Where were you going when I stopped you yesterday?
Guilt written on your half hidden face avoiding me.
Where had you been that you did not want me to know?
Most of all why me, what am now, I just can’t see?

We first met twenty one years ago when you were only twenty two,
With your first degree, so full of hope you could do anything.
I too had mine. I cried ‘look out world there’s a changer coming’!
Yours was in chemistry, in history mine. My heart began to sing.

That night at the student ball you were so lovely and so pretty
We melted away across the quod where none could see. Your chemistry
Deserved its degree for all it did, clinging to the chemistry in me.
In my gothic rooms,lost in the love which only you had ever found in me.

When I awoke, you were no longer there.Was I so little in your life?
You fled our halls the very next day, never to let me see you smile again.
Have I changed the world out of bitter revenge for the way you left me there?
And by re-writing history, which brought me fame through my digital pen.

Was this the way I chose to tell both friend and foe ‘Yes, my only lover went!
You didn’t have to, but I gained fame, a T.V. celebrity, writer. “Celebrity”
Oh, ghastliest of ghastly words. It turned me away from every putative lover
For twenty years, my heart just sees your face, saying ‘You must love me.’

I shall only be here for two more days, I’ll walk along that street again.
“At half past ten, there you were and I shouted,”Jennifer, please. Wait”.
Full face on you turned and I realised my mistake. I blushed, just a hope
I was keeping in my breast in case I saw your face, but it’s too late.

A woman was hurrying up behind the youngster, holding her degree. Given to her by me.
As the woman got nearer the girl approached me and asked for my autograph.
But It was her mother, tears streaming down her cheeks, who softly called out ‘Lucia’
Please don’t ask him for his autograph, you already have it, and began to laugh.

I didn’t move. Just stared at my daughter.Twenty one years of Lucia’s life gone.
Then at her mother, still crumpled with remorse.”Jen, I love you and forgive you”.
Then I turned to Lucia and asked for one quick father’s hug. She was lost
But could not help holding me as her mother had. I looked at Jen, again. “Why?”

“I was told you were the lover of half our year. I ran away distraught.
Eight years later the lyer confessed as she was dying, I forgave her.
I sought you everywhere but as Lucy got older I told her all about you.”
Then Lucia broke in, “but she’s still yours if your not married. She couldn’t bear
To look on any other man and she’s been very ill. She lectures here too.

I have a degree in history just like you. Can I call you dad? We hugged again.
I walked up to Jen and held her as I did all those years ago. “I do love you so”.
We went back to my hotel to tidy up and prepare for a reunion luncheon, but Jen collapsed
Her heart gave out she was dead. Lucia clung to me,”Dad, don’t leave me, I’ve still got you.

But she meant more. No one would know.Forty three marrying twenty one. Why not?
“Lucy I’m your dad! You aren’t serious. My Lucy was. This time it would be for every day.
All alone, I drove off and live alone now lecturing and broacasting in the States.
Lucia committed suicide. Her last words to me were, “Look at me. No don’t turn away.”

Anton Wills-Eve

10 months unseasoned.


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/turn-turn-turn/”>Turn, Turn, Turn</a>

Favourite season and least admired.

                    10 months unseasoned.                           

                                Love

I love March best, each year my heart leaps

hopefully towards a face I’d love to love.

then comes the truth, that face is with God above.

Yet every hope and wish in love still peeps

around the wings of the stage set of eternity,

as I hope for one more undeserved maternity.

 

 

                                   Hope

March, the very word suggests a trudging echo

of boots stomping along life’s unknown road.

leaves muffle the entry and exit from our abode

wife and children are left ignorant of where we go.

we have to tread life’s path as God has willed us to

we have to hope, for He has left us nothing else to do.

                       

                     winter into spring

I love you with all my heart as in my arms you lie

winter has gone and we know not what lies ahead

you cling to me as though my body in truth was dead

I look on you, how long until I have to say goodbye?

cold winds are past but spring is yet to tell us all

the seasons left will bring us, shall we rise or fall?

 

Anton Wills-Eve

OUR LOVING QUARTET


I’ve done today’s alphabet challenge prompt in the form of an acrostic poem in which each of the 26 lines have to start with the next letter of the alphabet in correct sequence. If anyone queries xylographic it means carved ornately out of wood.)

just discovered this was posted a few months ago but when the ping was down

OUR LOVING QUARTET

 

Always and everywhere, Sue you are mine
Breakfast, lunch, dinner and bedtime divine.
Coming to meet me off the train every day,
Driving me home from the station to play
Evening  games with the twins, both smiling at me;
Fun for us all while they have their tea.
“Goodnight James and Jenny, God bless”,then a kiss;
Happiness is our home on days such as this.
Illness, however, makes us both forlorn,
Jenny and James crying night until morn.
Kneeling to hold a basin while they are sick
Looking at Sue, hoping they’ll get well quick.
Money too causes worries, have we enough
Needed to pay for their school fees and stuff?
Often we go without things we would like
Poor Jenny wants a dress and James needs a bike.
Quite often, Sue, you put your arms around me
Reassuringly smiling, telling me everything will be
So much better when my new job comes through.
Two weeks later I get it, my wage goes up too.
Unknown to you I cannot resist buying a surprise;
Very soon I’m telling you “Now shut your eyes!”
What tears of joy when you see my present!
Xylographic beads set in a silver broach crescent.
Yes, love rules in the house of our family quartet,
Zone of the luckiest, happiest folks yet.

AWE

HE WISHED HE COULD HAVE DONE THAT!


 what I cannot do.

HE WISHED HE COULD HAVE DONE THAT!

Jealousy is a green eyed monster, so Shakespeare tells us in Othello.

The Moor of Venice too, was an all round clever and successful fellow.

Master of all he fought and all he imperiously ruled

But alas by a servant and through jealousy was he fooled.

He would not believe that Desdemona was faithful all her life,

Ans so he choked her with a hankey, what a way to waste a wife!

Then Iago laughed behind his back having punished the pure lady he desired

But she had left an encoded message for Othello who now knew who had admired

The wife he always and only loved, indeed until death did them part.

So he sought out Iago and in turn avenged himself for misplacing his own heart.

Oh, William, your whole tragedy is encompassed in my short passionate lines.

Your jealousy must crave such succulent brief literary phrases when it dines.

AWE 

RAINBOW COLOURS


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/roy-g-biv/”>Roy G. Biv</a>

colours

RAINBOW COLOURS

Red is for stop, when driving a car

Blue’s for the sky wherever  you are

Orange is juicy and fresh to the taste

Green’s ‘start again’, but without too much haste

Yellow’s a ribbon to tie round a tree

Violet’s been my wife since marrying me

Lastly bad “indigo” says what the police saw

“In you go” to prison for breaking the law.

AWE

total time taken 1minute 47 seconds

METRIC IMMORTALITY


THE PRESENTS


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/food-for-the-soul-and-the-stomach/”>Food for the Soul (and the Stomach)</a>

still not hungry so another poem

 

 

 THE PRESENTS

 

John & Jane

 

Their birthday tomorrow, what would they get?
They had to survive that afternoon yet.
“Wouldn’t it be fun”, said Jane
“If we could run a race again
It’s such a lovely afternoon
Mum’s tired, she won’t wake up soon.”
“I’m game”, brother John at once agrees
“Twice round the pond then to the trees”.
“I’ll beat you easy, just you wait.”
His sister adds, “Then make the gate
The winning post. Oh do come on!”
Soon both are ready, now they’re gone
John’s off first but then slips up,
“Oh Jane, I’ve broken your fruit juice cup”.
“Well my arm is caught in a prickly gorse bush,
“But I’m leading, sure you don’t need a push?
Oh John you really are hopelessly slow.”
“We’ll soon see”, replies John, “watch me go!”
Now he’s catching her again, to and fro’
And passes her on the second pond lap,
But she pushes him in, they’ve started a scrap.
“Oh be serious Jane, I’m trying to be fair”.
So she helps him out and they re-start from there.
Now it’s into the trees, pear, apple and oak,
Jane’s trapped by a root, John laughs at the joke.
“But I’m totally stuck now, can’t you see?”
An apple falls on John, Jane giggles with glee.
John starts to spurt, Jane’s still in the fight.
The finish is reached as the gate’s in sight.
“I’ve won!”, “No it’s me!”, a voice shouts, “A tie!”.
“Oh mummy, you were sleeping”, they guiltily cry.
“Shshsh you two, dad’s got a surprise,”
She tells them both to shut their eyes.
John just gapes, and wide-eyed Jane stares
At their first ever pair of racing wheelchairs.
And two moist eyed parents clasp each other really tight,
Their handicapped twins filling them both with delight.

Anton Wills-Eve

THE YEAR’S RESPONSE TO CLIMATE CHANGE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/we-built-this-city/”>We Built This City</a>

and :  if this is the land

in which I am daily fed. 

to it no praise : do I proudly raise.

No, In sad verse I weep instead.

 

The Year’s Response To Climate Change

 

January’s white snow drifts have forever gone,
Its trees’ branches are ice-tipped no more.
Warm breezes scatter the unsheltered sheep alone,
As climate change re-colours the woodland floor.

February heralds spring, not March’s gales,
As sunny clouds cause birds to mate and court.
Taking on the tasks of two months, February fails
To cheer the children,  bereft of winter sport.

March has lost its power and all that force
With which it brought rainy storms to April’s gate.
And nature’s seasons have had to change their course
Lest spring should come too early or too late.

Dan Chaucer, where has the Aprille you knew gone?
Its birds, its showers its first budding flowers?
They flew past, wrapped in March’s early sonne,
That brought forth buds too soon in glades and bowers.

Oh May! The lovers’ month, is now all too brief.
And Romeo has scarce the time to know
The Juliet he cherishes in love, she him in grief,
Upon our merrie stage they step, but straight must go.

Ah, June at last, at least some balance does restore,
As fledglings and blossom maintain their proper days.
And, though early, summer sun still glows once more,
On gardens, orchards, and fields it shines its rays.

But stay, what does July bring in high sunny season?
Thunder and floods and hot and much too soon!
This is the month that has surely lost its reason,
For summer will never again serenade  in tune.

Sad August can no longer find Phoebus its place
In all the chaos of the wet and soaking sun.
In truth, for shame, it has lost its summer face,
And is impatient for its thirty one days to run.

Thus, by September, winds start to howl again.
Yet summer still keeps pace with searing heat,
While showers keep their own counsel when to rain,
Ensuring no Indian summers give one last treat.

October, shamed and beaten into submission
By the prior seasons’ self appointed weather,
Can neither help nor hinder the Autumn vision
Of its hibernating friends or emigrating feather.

In November, anything can be expected now.
The year it knew is turned upon its head.
Fruit, which fell early from the orchard bough,
Lies rotting still, in the ochre grass, quite dead.

What can December make of its climate’s uncivil war
Which has laid waste the pattern of its year?
No hope of Christmas being white with frost of hoar.
No hope of anything being normal. It sheds a tear.

 

Anton Wills-Eve

A Waste of Time


 

 

 

A Waste of Time

Not a sound, not a peep

From the baby asleep,

While the cat and the dog

Both rest like a log.

And the afternoon sun

Is too tired for a run

Round the clouds in the sky,

No one knows why.

SDC11299
The warm summer breeze

Makes the leaves in the trees

Flutter calm and serene,

Speckled yellow and green.

Adding tranquillity and peace

To the ducks and the geese

As they float on the pond,

Where each lily and fronde

Are too tired to float

To the children’s toy boat

Left to bob or to sink,

While the kids have a drink,

the pond

And mummy’s new tan

Gets as dark as it can

Without burning her skin,

The cream round her chin

Stops it hurting all night.

The whole scene, so bright.

The sun, getting ready to set,

Thinks there’s time enough yet.

The birds, wasps and bees

The mosquitoes and fleas

All bask in the hot afternoon.

late afternoon

But it’s surprising how soon

Cool evening descends

And the afternoon ends.

One more day passes by,

Waving cheerio to the sky,

Because time’s daily run,

Round the moon and the sun

Can’t be started or ended

Shortened or extended.

good night moon

Anton Wills-Eve

BUT WE CAN’T DO THAT NOW


in reply to ‘me time’ prompt

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/me-time/”>Me Time</a>

BUT WE CAN’T DO THAT NOW

How I loved my bracing early morning run

Along the golden beach in the dawning sun.

Then a cup of chocolate and a croissant, piping hot,

At the little cafe where I once forgot

To bring any money so I couldn’t pay

But they laughed and left it to the next Saturday.

Followed an hour dong this on my new i-pad;

Telling all the world if I was happy or sad.

Then round the shops for our weekend food,

Including a treat if I thought I’d been good

At school that week. But the bit I  loved best

Was choosing my clothes as I got dressed

To meet Sandra for lunch. Next off to the game,

How her loving, cheeky smile was always the same,

Each week  we held hands cheering as our team lost or won:

And oh, that kiss, going home when the day was done.

But we can’t do that now. Why, oh why am I so young,

As cancer strikes me? My Sandra’s life has hardly begun.

 

Anton Wills-Eve

Nothing to speak of


reply to wall to wall prompt Feb 15th

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/wall-to-wall/”>Wall to Wall</a>

NOTHING TO SPEAK OF

 

We have nothing on the walls of our house

And nothing on the ceiling or the floor.

And as every room is empty and deserted

We’ve nothing to admire from door to door.

 

You see we only bought it new last week

And as we don’t move in for seveal days.

The whole place is totally bare and boring’

Not even any furnishings or displays 🙂

 

Anton Wills-Eve

THE GREAT ESCAPE


Take a quote from your favorite movie — there’s the title of your post. Now, write

I’ve used the title instead.

a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/silver-screen/">Silver Screen</a>

                        The Great Escape


I remember the helicopter being hit,

Forcing us downwards in a spin.

Six of us on board, all scared to death,

Each one feeling his fear begin

To take control of heart and mind,

About to discover who was brave or yellow

Or just a normal, petrified young man,

Voice barely heard above the engines’ bellow.

Jim, the pilot, gave in to his panic first

As we brushed the jungle trees below.

He screamed “ I can’t, I can’t just let me out’,

Undid his harness and jumped. I’ll never know

Whether he lived or died because all I cared

Was whether I could fly the chopper in his place.

The others pushed me into Jim’s empty seat

As I tried to focus on the controls before my face.

Fred, the comic of our little band,

Then lost the plot as he deliberately blew

His brains out and slumped across his gun.

Willy tipped his body out continuing to chew

Relentlessly on his soft, cool mint gum.

Somehow I kept us flying straight, though now

It was more by luck that we made it to a clearing

With room to land. “Someone, please tell me how!”

Side to side we swayed among the branches

Then Jeff screamed “Fire. Look, at the back.”

A burning stench took the breath from all of us.

Tony and I, in front, saw the oncoming attack,

Shells shattered our windscreen, blinded, Tony fell

Sideways into the jungle. My best buddy. Dead.

In hell I ceased to care about the guns or fire,

Save the others! But I ran out of time instead.

The chopper lurched smashing, side-on, into a tree;

Sheared in half, the rear exploded leaving me alone

Swinging from a branch by only my parachute cord.

I Looked down, the ground was miles away and a bone

Stuck crookedly out of my lower leg. “God take me,”

I remember praying out loud. Agonising pain and fear

Accompanied me, sliding downwards through the jungle.

The earth rushed up, and the ground was deathly near.

Vision blurred,

The last sound I heard,

Maybe the last word,

Was, “Nurse. Absurd!

“Not even a bird

Could survive that fall”.

But I did. After all,

All the dead can recall

Is a flag for a pall

And a lone bugle call.

Anton Wills-Eve

_____________

Bayern Munich Four Barcelona Nil


a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/embrace-the-ick/”>Embrace the Ick</a>

praising that which I hate. as we all have sports teams we can’t stand I had to write one about a team I DON’T support winning a key game in the European soccer cup. But to add ginger and pep to this I did two things. One I wrote it as a poem and two I wrote it as an acrostic of the actual result , which was 

” Bayern Munich four Barcelona nil.”

(written 15 minutes after the game)

Before the start,the German crowd,
Already singing and chanting out loud,
Yelled Spanish obscenities at the foe
Encouraging their own lads to have a go.
Remembering last season’s surprise defeat,
Not prepared to settle for a repeat,
Made most soccer writers think they’d win
Until the ref blew the whistle to begin.
Never had Barcelona played so well
Iniesta and Xavi cast a dazzling spell
Changing wings and making Munich stand tall
Hanging on in defence, only just clearing the ball.
Finally, though, against the run of play
On the far post Thomas Muller found a way
Up in the air he met a cross with his head
Rattling the ball into the net, his team now led.
Back came the Spaniards with Messi away
Alas he was flagged offside. Not his day.
Really, one – nil at half time made them inspired
Completely outplaying Barcelona as first Gomez fired
Easily into the goal for their second that night
Literally draining the Spaniards of spirit or fight.
Once Robben had scored number three it was clear
Now the fans and the crowd had nothing to fear.
A fourth goal, the best, from Muller again,
Nothing could stop Bayern as they piled on the pain.
In Spain next week this means Barcelona need five.
Little chance of them keeping their Cup hopes alive!

 

Anton Wills-Eve

Anne


My lady at twilight


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/oasis/”>Oasis</a&gt;

The oasis to which my ageing mind flees when threatened or depressed.

My lady at twilight

My vision’s crepuscular world is now part lit
That grey garden, my mind, thrice-fold twilit.
Leaving me lost in a twilight world of my own,
By my parents’ thrice-lit seeds was it sown.

Those seeds of life blossomed in May
A different bright memory each day.
From all of them their flowers grew taller
As their roots, my brain, shrank ever smaller.

So now with only my past life and my sighs,
Through the dim twilight dream of my eyes,
All my straining vision can see is part shady.
Save the face of my fairest, sweet lady.

Anton Wills-Eve

The song I have yet to sing.


in answer to the wordpress prompt challenge ‘unsung hero’ for dec 15th 2014.

THE SONG I HAVE YET TO SING

 

Today I read your letter recalling long ago
Telling me you still craved my loving heart.
More, that this craving still torments you so
That you wish we had made love, not strayed apart.

Who told you that my frozen heart was broken?
Who saw those shattered shards of ice ?
My darling, doubt not my loving or your own
For a passion like ours is no temporal device.

My life is filled with heroes I have seen
In every field of fame, some aged some young.
Yet none approaches what to me you’ve been,
My own unrequited love, and still unsung.

For more than fifty years your smiling face,
Strengthening my faith, belief and certainty
That God would sustain us by His love,
And reunite us both for ever in eternity,

Has helped me live through ages of despair
Lest never again would I touch your silken skin,
Your face, your arms, the beauty of your hair;
Nor kiss again your lips, nor hear you sing.

And so in all my prayers and all my praise,
I keep alive the fire that once we knew.
For, although we have reached our Autumn days,
Those shards of ice may yet kindle flames anew.

And even if we have to wait for paradise
Before we meet again, in heaven above.
There I’ll be your Dante and you my Beatrice,
As we kiss again, hearts entwined in timeless love.

 

Anton Wills-Eve

Our Loving Quartet


I’ve done today’s alphabet challenge prompt in the form of an acrostic poem in which each of the 26 lines have to start with the next letter of the alphabet in correct sequence. If anyone queries xylographic it means carved ornately out of wood.)

just discovered this was posted a few months ago but when the ping was down

OUR LOVING QUARTET

 

Always and everywhere, Sue you are mine
Breakfast, lunch, dinner and bedtime divine.
Coming to meet me off the train every day,
Driving me home from the station to play
Evening  games with the twins, both smiling at me;
Fun for us all while they have their tea.
“Goodnight James and Jenny, God bless”,then a kiss;
Happiness is our home on days such as this.
Illness, however, makes us both forlorn,
Jenny and James crying night until morn.
Kneeling to hold a basin while they are sick
Looking at Sue, hoping they’ll get well quick.
Money too causes worries, have we enough
Needed to pay for their school fees and stuff?
Often we go without things we would like
Poor Jenny wants a dress and James needs a bike.
Quite often, Sue, you put your arms around me
Reassuringly smiling, telling me everything will be
So much better when my new job comes through.
Two weeks later I get it, my wage goes up too.
Unknown to you I cannot resist buying a surprise;
Very soon I’m telling you “Now shut your eyes!”
What tears of joy when you see my present!
Xylographic beads set in a silver broach crescent.
Yes, love rules in the house of our family quartet,
Zone of the luckiest, happiest folks yet.

AWE

A Premature Dad


November 27th

The story for today is both true and in verse. I have published it before. But it is a tale worth far more than twice the telling. November 17th, was world Premature baby day and as my youngest son was born at only 23 weeks and four days , he asked me to write a poem about what it had been like being a Premature Dad. Many people don’t believe that my wife and I can know so exactly the length of Ben’s gestation, but actually it was easy.

Ill health had prevented us from making love for some eight weeks before the day of his conception so we are in no doubt at all. The only possible doubt is that he might have been  even earlier!

The Life and Love of a Premature dad

On the seventeenth day of October in nineteen ninety

Our baby son was born, but gave mummy no pain.

The birth of a baby, what’s so unusual about that?

Well our Benedict had travelled on an earlier train

Than the one the doctors had forecast for his nativity.

He gestated for only 23 weeks and four days, before

His mummy’s appendix was infected and burst.

I was told they’d both die. Not the future I saw!

As they both were rushed to the operating theatre

I asked the chaplain to be present at Ben’s natal bed.

He was baptised within seconds of living,

And prayers For my darling wife were simultaneously said.

Paediatricians and surgeons worked for four hours

Keeping both of them alive, while expecting their loss.

I had to wait, all alone, for news of my family with only

Hope and faith to sustain me ‘neath the weight of my cross.

After three hours the chief paediatrician told me

“I hope your son will make it, but alas not your wife”.

A nurse sat beside me and then offered to take me

To see my little Ben, less than two pounds of life.

I prayed at his incubator, wired up from head to toe.

Then news of his mother,now in her own private bed.

As I looked at her face, deathly white but still breathing,

Emotion took over, an hour of tears I must have shed.

The hospital was wonderful giving me a bed in her room

So I could flit between both of them just watching how.

They battled their way through our frightening ordeal,

For I knew I could not live without both of them now.

That night I thanked God for each breath they took and

Knew saving both of them was the greatest love I’d ever felt.

From an act of pure loving, with the wife I loved so deeply,

I’d been given a second love overpowering me as I knelt

And blessed all who’d worked so hard and so long

To help deliver another child to our house and our home.

How on earth can anyone believe tiny miracles like mine

Can be left to die, by dry words in a sick legal tome?

For thirteen weeks Ben fought for each breath, and his

Mother had more operations, but who counted the cost

Of saving our son? Visiting him each day was well worth it,

For to be without him now, we knew we’d both be lost.

Last month at the age of twenty four,with two top degrees,

And his heart full of love as they walked down the aisle.

Ben married his Samantha, and I proudly rejoiced as

I saw my love shared by him. It was all in his smile.

Anton Wills-Eve

All Tomorrow’s Yesterdays


All our tomorrow’s yesterdays

Must at some time have been today.

And all our todays that were now

Must by now have passed away.

But the todays that are still tomorrows

Cannot yet be yesterday,

For the present never stops moving,

Both forwards and backwards each day.

So all we can do when contemplating

Time, and the part it might play,

In measuring the span of our lives

Is to change the unchanging changes today.

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