My Antonia
     A lovely thing sat around at home for years, quaint in a rustic bookcase, looking cozy on the cover, but probably difficult in its language of days passed. Unfortunately, as an impetuous young reader, it wasn't to my liking to halt at the dictionary's entry long enough, letting the novel words breathe. Back when twenty-something, mom bought me a batch of classics to read up. She saw me consume the dainty hardcovers from her Jane Austen collection. Bronte's...

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Springs
That hope springs eternal It has been said Sarcasm or bliss But what if hope be the mesh? Sifting, Dread of sharp gravel Impoverished thought disgraced Pictures torn and mended Voiced disarray Chimes hardened to rust No message conveyed. And if hope be the finest Might she be formed by air Flickers of matter Mysterious substance Prowess of light? That nothing could touch her Yet power belied Such fabric confected by hands beyond mind To withstand our sorrows Doubts and...

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