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gratefully received The Editor
HTML Transcription
© F.Coakley ,
2000
[from Collected Works, T.E.Brown]
BETWEEN our folding lips
God slips
An embryon life, and goes;
And this becomes your rose.
We love, God makes : in our sweet mirth
God spies occasion for a birth.
Then is it His, or is it ours ?
I know not—He is fond of flowers.
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