White pine : poems and prose poems
Poetry of nature. In Fall she writes: "the black oaks / fling their bronze fruit / into all the pockets of earth / pock pock / they knock against the thresholds / the roof the sidewalk / fill the eaves / the bottom line / of the old gold song / of the almost finished year."
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|Location||Call Number /
|Arcade Free Library||811.54 OLIVE (Text)