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from the July/August 2003 issue


If this is life-how low!

and I, how shamed, if I don't hang my lifetime's lamp

high on the dusty pine of this dead-end lane.

If this is life-how pure!

and I, how stained, if I don't plant my faith like a mountain,

eternal memorial, to grace this ephemeral earth.

Read more from the July/August 2003 issue
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