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ISSUE:  Autumn 1934

Here might a man, childlike, unbind his boots,
Go with bared feet, and sometimes, pausing, stand To feel with the foot’s depth the years of mold Through which the buried roots, the living roots Climb down to levels more profoundly old—
Eons of rock, centuries of sand.
Here might the foot feel and the slowed mind feel What the root feels in its deep wanderings.
For mind can probe the obstinate hidden boulder With fibres tenuous yet tough as steel And climbing down to levels deeper, older,
Search, reach, and drink perennial springs.


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