--O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer

Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? (WBY)

The Old master among the schoolchildren across his composition glanced away-he took what he could of hours long since Old Ireland was dead and gone to the grave As it was configured and then broken there was nowhere else to go but to grief let consequences lead to conclusion a glove and a hat a silent shadow But inside the work itself is its frame striding among the multiple students a time that once upon had made its claim to being alive and ailing the same a poem is a history-making machine it lives for what it loses of nothing

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