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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Drama >> ID #463427 |
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Terracing
Knowing you will search in me for truth, I shield my eyes, plant stones To frame the earth, As earth will frame my bones. Such labor is not pleasing: I cannot bury earth or words. Your question latent, seizing: What is it that you want? you ask. I answer: Nothing. Everything.
© Copyright 2002 Eliot (UN: eliot_a at Writing.Com).
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