Come to me.

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    Come to me.

    Wear a garb of flesh
    and come to me.
    Though I see you behind the mist
    with the eyes of my mind,
    I cannot touch you,
    except in dreams;
    I cannot hold you,
    except in hopes;
    until you wear a robe of flesh
    and come to me.

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    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    Sailheat’s Poems (1)

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    Come to me. 1