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Eden and Gethsemane
Every morning in silence an old man reads
Verses while resting on a garden seat
Upon the pages falls soft, leafy light
Like meanings breathed into the given words
His shovel and rake are leaned against the oak
Where the too-fat squirrels gambol merrily
His hands and joints just don’t work well anymore
And so he gardens in the Book of Life
And then one morning he isn’t there
And then a gentle wind turns the page
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