Subject: Sherri

From: "townie langston" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 24 Mar 2007 08:47:55 +0100

What is there in the depths of these walls
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
Is the moon to grow
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent-
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
And the wide arrowhead the road itself
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
Across the heavens' gray.
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
Again awaken from your being gone to find
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
The ordinary, wide scene which begins
Away, my songs, must we go