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Apostrophe

分类: 英语诗歌 
  by Angie Estes

    How many in a field

    of wheat, and to whom

    do they belong? O death, O

    grave, Bright star, thou bleeding piece

    of earth, thou shouldst be

    living at this hour, world without

    synonym, amen. But I

    digress, turn away like Giotto's

    contrapposto Christ, apostle

    of contrecoeur-nothing like the cardinal

    calling this morning, the third

    fifty-degree day at the end

    of December, to his cinnamon

    mate. The headline says, "Pope Calls

    Cardinals to Rome." But will they

    come? It is written above-superscript, sign,

    omission-a gentle tender insinuation

    that makes it very difficult to definitely

    decide to do without it. One does

    do without it, I

    do, I mostly always do, but

    I cannot deny that from time

    to time I feel myself

    having regrets and from time to

    time I put it in. This do in remembrance

    of me, your only wick

    to light. For where two

    or three are gathered in

    my name, like snow in April, lid

    on a coffin, ice on the lake, I'll come

    between you and yours; I give you

    my word.

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