Poem by Lesbia Harford

* * *

You, whom the grave cannot bind,
Shall a song hold you?
Still you escape from the mesh
Spun to enfold you.
Your woven texture of flesh
Short time confined you.
Sib to the sun and the wind,
Shall a song bind you?

1. Closing Time: Public Library
2. He had served eighty masters. They'd have said
3. Child Sun
4. All through the day at my machine
5. Do you remember still the little song

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