To drop our leaves of sense;
Sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell,
Before death's imminence
Is wise—is gently well.
Leaf thirst for sun, rain, sap, and air is deep;
Bare branches only ask for sleep.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
The treasure hunt by Robert Penn Warren
Hunt, hunt again. If you do not find it, you
Will die. But I tell you this much, it
Is not under the stone at the foot
Of the garden, nor by the wall at the fig tree.
I tell you this much to save you trouble, for I
Have looked, I know. But hurry, for
The terror is, all promises are kept.
Even happiness.
Will die. But I tell you this much, it
Is not under the stone at the foot
Of the garden, nor by the wall at the fig tree.
I tell you this much to save you trouble, for I
Have looked, I know. But hurry, for
The terror is, all promises are kept.
Even happiness.
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