Poetry from NER 41.4 (2020)
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Every poem an elegy,
Each moment of breath is a debt owed the dead.
To live is to die longing to hold and behold the face
Of the mystery that brought us here.
O, Holy: what keeps us here.
Poetry from NER 41.4 (2020)
Subscribe today!
Every poem an elegy,
Each moment of breath is a debt owed the dead.
To live is to die longing to hold and behold the face
Of the mystery that brought us here.
O, Holy: what keeps us here.