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Don't Eat With Your Mouth Full

Where can we live but days?

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steepholm steepholm
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Stump Study
On the way back home this afternoon I stopped at Otterbourne Wood to pay my respects to my father's ashes, which just now are all bluebells and moss.

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Lovely. Just lovely.

Thank you. It put me in mind of these lines from a poem I wrote for him a while ago:

What death has made of you, I do not know.
Perhaps you are the vastest star,
Or that still-vaster darkness where it burns,
Or soil, or stem, or now a spreading tree,
Or that thin web which from the sallow leaf
Extends. These mansions tenanted,
Where shall I seek you on the Greek Kalends?