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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems permission to use
provided by the author. |
Language cannot be but in the
heart,
A sense beyond all sense both loud and clear.
None may master it but by the art,
Grasped through mime, of holding being dear.
Underneath all words, then, must be love,
Articulate and frank, though rarely spoken,
Gift of those who through our maelstroms move,
Each a mirror in a line unbroken. |