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144 pages, Paperback
First published December 28, 2015
“Of Theologians”
Say not to me
That learned men,
Grown sere and brown,
Add aught to music
By dissecting it to sound.
“Wisdom”
Everyone assumes
That the perfumes
Of August
Are the works of springtime’s buds
Aging into blooms.
But the fading rose,
In her dying, knows,
It is the joy of ceasing
That distills perfume.