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Nicholas Gordon
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Forty-nine has found a truth to tell,
Opening an unexpected door.
Recognizing what she has to sell,
The proselyte prepares to tell it
well,
Yearning to convey the silent core.
Nor could she find a task that offers
more.
It's like fires lit from hill to
hill,
Night spangled with what words ignite the
will,
Each racing soul to soul from shore to
shore.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
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