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Monday, June 09, 2008

Sonnet CLXI

Determined as the autumn wind I fight,
ambition strikes me, turning me more fierce
as hot resolve inflames my maddened tears
and drives me still against the chilling bite.

And colder winds blow, driving me to fright
and almost beat, I lose all of my cheer.
But then, reminded of the mounting jeers,
resolve shall tighten, courage just as tight.

And onward, struggling, I clear the way,
not weak, but lethal, in my potent rage.
And flying through the wind I quickly race,
a bit advanced each coming subtle day.
And breaking from my wicked, wintry cage,
I spare no pity, only faulty grace.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!