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Song

December 4, 2018 by chris

Originally published in Beast in View (1944)

The world is full of loss; bring, wind, my love,
My home is where we make our meeting-place,
And love whatever I shall touch and read
Within that face.

Lift, wind, my exile from my eyes;
Peace to look, life to listen and confess,
Freedom to find to find to find
That nakedness.

Filed Under: Poetry, Writings

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Essays

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