Give me truths,
For I am weary of the surfaces,
And die of inanition. If I knew
Only the herbs and simples of the wood,
...
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Clouds shade the sun, which will not tan our hay. And nothing thrives to reach its natural term, And life, shorn of its venerable length, .......touching expression with nice theme. Beautiful poem.
Give me truths, For I am weary of the surfaces, .. Ah what a lovely opening line! The truth is where the roots are, all else is peripheral blight. Beautiful
And life, shorn of its venerable length, Even at its greatest space, is a defeat, And dies in anger that it was a dupe, beautiful and great 10++++++++++
" Give me truths, For I am weary of the surfaces" A great composition crafted by a master craftsman.