Some high notes live while others don’t. Where do they go?

I’m a girl, Corel, who takes serious work. The wages I draw call my hands to the dirt— Hunching and sweating long days under heat. What...

I’ve seen the ninety-ring pine in its age— What splendor, its breadth, and what rise radiates! What good is a forest without its display?...

The foliage distinct, a sweet bay, evergreen — You once waved by the shore happenstance to be seen — By a shabby shy boy years too young...