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Comments about Paul Henry
Down a road of swirling fogs
And through screens of rural grey,
Life moves onward blindly,
Complete in disarray.
No ferns or mosses, No seed
To heal men’s fruitless losses.
A black and barren land it seems
Will fill the voids of my dreams.
Until merging into view
From fogs and churning rains,
Visions of a Willow Tree
Lend branches down, onto me.
Her trunk stands mellow, and graciously
Flowing by is the spine
Of her drooping leaves.
Up her bark I then twine to climb,
To reach her timbered peak.
Hanging, climbing, ...