George Sipos hears the frog song at two in the morning and wonders if it is passion that drives it or the loneliness of spring. In another poem, the wet leaves of fall are described in language that cuts two ways: "I work the rake, / you the wheelbarrow. when we get tired we will change." With quiet humour, he writes of nature, the land, and the tasks of an ordinary day. Alive with sublety, The Glassblowers quietly turns images and metaphors the way we might turn a small stone between our thumb and fingers to see its facets and colours.

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