The young bull dropped his head and stared.
Only a wispy wire—electrified—kept us
apart. That, and two long rows of asparagus.
An ancient apple tree
...
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Love how all of this particular poet's poems are all filled with such great imagery.
No steps made toward progress of the intended pursuit, but such magnificent strides accomplished in the direction of being within the moment. Beauty personified, that is Jane Kenyon's poetry.