everyone developing A language of his own to write his book in, And one to cap the climax by combining All language in a one-man tongue-confusion.
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everyone developing A language of his own to write his book in, And one to cap the climax by combining All language in a one-man tongue-confusion.
Where my imaginary line Bends square in woods, an iron spine And pile of real rocks have been founded.
Courage is in the air in bracing whiffs Better than all the stalemate an's and ifs.
Spirit enters flesh And for all it's worth Charges into earth In birth after birth Ever fresh and fresh.
You linger your little hour and are gone, And still the woods sweep leafily on....
You linger your little hour and are gone, And still the woods sweep leafily on......
For every parcel I stoop down to seize I lose some other off my arms and knees, And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns .. ..
wanted there should be some there next year." "Of course you did. You left the rest for seed, And for the backwoods woodchuck. You're the girl! A Ram's Horn orchid seedpod for a woodchuck Sounds something like. Better than farmer's beans To a discriminating appetite...."
Some say existence like a Pirouot And Pirouette, forever in one place, Stands still and dances, but it runs away; It seriously, sadly, runs away To fill the abyss's void with emptiness.
You mean about success, And how by its own logic it concentrates All wealth and power in too few hands?