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Description: | Unkind to speak of the ancestral vocabulary as dream-talk, unkind to wake the dreamer |
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Description: | Sunday was the day when, to a stranger, almost nothing happened. But to us it was the best day of all |
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Description: | As though the tree inclined lacked discipline, pruned of its working part |
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Description: | Rooms remembered for what they led to What they shut out and how they silent sang |
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Description: | Some towering hand-made genius had fighting words to sell |
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Description: | That instinct path to the waiting door is a mile of running beyond the last ounce of bursting heart |
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Description: | Page from Joy Camps photo album displaying three photographs. In one a man poses in a white military uniform holding his hat, with a lake and distant shore... |
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Description: | That morning is adrift in passing; it cannot last the day. Those years are anchored to each other; there is no other way. |
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Description: | You came to know that book by its covered distance, well remembered by the measure of the trudging barefoot mile |
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