Not Whitman - Poem by Hans Ostrom
She, too, would sing herself
if such a song seemed not so
She leaves her blades of grass
lying under drifts of reticence.
What she knows, you may
know, but only if you ask,
and even then she may answer
by asking you to sing a little
something of yourself.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You