Shownotes
It's a librarian thing you wouldn't understand
How the mark is on some other shelf,
For the blade which can dissect your tongue,
Strike your speech with the stamp of words.
Recognize me of leaves and swords,
Leave them to haunt my quiet things;
I will read them in a heap of stars,
I will read them out of the shade.
Over the white almond the scent blew.
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