Charles Lamar Nelson
Refuge In Oxford
Such praise, but these scenes are texts of beauty!
There's no painting half so alluring
Nor any depiction by novelist Faulkner
Can array the soul of God without words.
But, why must these things become a creepy dust,
laden with fears, crumbled with tears,
withered frames that are rivets of pain,
A conscience without consciousness of fear.
But, thus, is the formation of such a mental state