lifetsyle

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Antidote


I think, sometimes,
The only poets are the ones
Who don't write poems in the springs:
Those blessed souls
Who find earth very fair, without the tense desire
To do a thing about it;
Knowing
That their few weak words
Are poorly matched with nature at her best;
In quiet contemplation
Quite content to leave
Their little egos unexpressed.

Written by Anita Scott Coleman (1890-1960)

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