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Fri 11 Jun, 2004 06:02 pm
the art of finding where we are,
No star to guide,
No sage who intercedes
To scatter winds of softness.
No loft to hide among the hay.
I cannot stay, the ancients say.
So go away!
And I reply with silence
That was wonderful, Letty; a slice of profundity. Perhaps things are better without the sages and stars, though; freer, even if more difficult.
drom, as the Jazz boys say, "You've been reading my mail"
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