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40 IN SEARCH FOR IT Just a blank sheet of paper It was never taught, my clock. Green was its music For its sake, my clock The pendulum music Played better. Its own sound unforgotten, Dancing but the pendulum tune. Turning, search I it in the sheets. Yet, coming it is never. Return to myself will tarnish all But Helens say, “return to yourself, farm it ever.” In the cave’s under walls Of what use is it? Wisdom runs towards our roost. Chased, hunted and hunting we it find most…! ...

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