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Still

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem  The novice nun waits still, a candle flame. The flame burns still.  These three are still; no, not The column only, white, avoiding shame. A dusk of autumn fills her with...

Pigs Would Fly if Their Sties Were Noble

Pigs Would Fly if Their Sties Were Noble Poor Socrates.  He thought that if the young Were wrapped in images of beauty, they Would take good in and then could climb each rung Of rightness.  Lovelinesses would convey Them up and straight to healthiness of soul. Their...

No One

                       No One When you are dead, the violets will bloom In quiet purple or in white. The years Will pass, will pass to centuries, and winters loom With blossomed frost on window panes. The spheres Above this world will spin and sweep until Eternity...