A POEM
Ice in the spirit
Is but frozen tears
And bitterness
Is expectation killed.
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- Karl Keating
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Around our March balcony tonight Fog closes its slight hand — illusive blue —
A workman asked at a village door,
“Have you a bed, a chair,
A fallen…
Oh endless pattern in the trees.
You weave a world for me
Of endless beauty,…
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