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I envy you your steady blaze

fed by the Book of Common Praise

I envy this, believe I do,

that you can be, together, you,

And understand you may not see

that I must, on my own, be me

And then it had been Odile’s turn Up she’d sprung and without pause launched into her poeirth,

And breezy breath of balmy warmth

And burbank, bobolink, and snearth,

Shall banish winter’s chill and dearth,

And luscious joy shall fill the earth

‘Wonderful poem,’ Clara lied, when everyone had finished and they were crowded around the bar, feeling soency for a drink ‘I’m just kind of curious I’ve never actually heard of a snearth’

‘I lee ‘I needed a word to rhygested Clara shot her a warning look and Odile seeh, I’ernaut that is snearth,’ said Ruth to Clara before turning back to Odile ‘Well, I certainly feel enriched, if not fertilized The only poet I can think to coreat Sarah Binks’

While Odile had never heard of Sarah Binks she knew her cultural knowledge had been stunted by an education that only adenius Sarah Binks, she knew, lish poet indeed That cony’s creativity and in quiet ique in St-Rémy, she’d pull out her worn and worried child’s notebook to write another poe for inspiration