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Comb of Leaves

From the June/July 2020 Print Edition

Enough, I am to crumble to the floor;But all around me are perceptive eyes.I feel like going to my Father’s doorWhere His house with its many mansions lies. There shall I praise Him with tongues manifoldBorrowed from sounds and scents, from clouds and light,From leaves of poplar combing streams of . . . . Continue Reading »