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Father Sun--Sister Moon




Father Sun—Sister Moon
Dancing in the beauty bright

Turning round in beams of light
That defy the dark of night

Music of the blessed spheres
Melodies for those who hear


Poetry does what prose tries to do but never quite succeeds because it is always going somewhere.  Prose is about from here to there.  Poetry forces the mind to stop and look at what is right in front of you.  It is not about from here to there but from here to here. Prose runs.  Poetry walks.


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