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ISSUE:  Summer 1929

Time will outlast the clocks that measure it,
And that great love of which we are the parts,
Will wear out, and outlast our ticking hearts,
Or, if they still have love, will treasure it.
And as around a clock that cannot run The silence seeps which once it marked by sound,
So will that waiting love, when life is done,
Cover our weariness with peace profound.


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