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Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Sonnet LXXIX

The gates, the doors, the windows puzzle me,
but still reveal a human’s tempering.
For only mortal barriers like these
stem from a mortal being’s hindrances.

For why obstruct the natural flow of earth
whose impish chaos thus defines the world
from undefined and random cycles birthed
which cause our rains to seem so childish?

I see no reason why our orders seek
to curb the happy line of endless life.
Perhaps, I see, to give security.
Our simple minds still crave simplicity

and scheduled joy and plainly joyous rules,
which hapless men do strive to keep as tools.

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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!