are steadily eroded, but that somehow I am diminished; sometimes I feel myself disappearing. How can I hope to achieve any of the serenity I crave, the wholeness I long for, in the midst of such...
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John Robert Quinn A Winter Day I look out the window: All I can see Is one drab sparrow, The bones of a tree. The cold is nearly Visible; It stings like a hornet. White as a skull The snow is...
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