Imagery
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A Poem to the Church of St. Edward King and Martyr

The words that lie written beneath our feet, Titles of saints, these graves in graven stones, The echoes of reformers’ gracious tones Which once and still all sinners here would meet. And still these words evoke fascination Of both pilgrim and poet’s seeking hearts, Quickening with the spirit each their arts, Knowledge grown into Imagination. Continue reading
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Untuned
My heart is a violin With strings played to the breaking, And wound so tight I have no breath Since the hour of waking. Still sings my soul, though grown thin So lost among a score, And yearning for familiar rest I failed to love before. Continue reading
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