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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems permission to use
provided by the author. |
Eighteen has no answers but her
own,
Intent on yielding nothing to despair.
Glad tidings, if they come, must come
alone,
Having crossed the desert, bleak and bare.
There is no heaven suitable for hope,
Even in the ecstasy of dreams.
Each moment is more limited in scope,
Not one ounce more transcendent than it seems. |