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62 Doctors of Letters Perhaps, she got carried away that day; Took a step so far inside the box That she couldn’t find her way out— Rode the kite up so high She couldn’t bear to look down. No one knows for certain Why she later became A name on a police report, A body for a coroner’s inquest, A poet whose work would always be linked To the tight noose around her neck. There are theories discussed In towers where ivy grows wild; And Gods speak Greek to students Who follow them about and hang On every word that makes the world A sound and sensible place, As long as they understand Madness must be confined to a book With perfectly numbered pages— Because that’s just the way it is. When the doctors of letters Turn back their covers at night And lay their heads down to rest, Do they fall asleep any faster, Knowing how easy it is to master The art of deception by calling it truth? And the woman trapped in the sky? Who listens to her joyful cry As she drops safely to earth. ...

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