March 2011
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To a Young Son by June Robertson Beisch
Today I passed your room and you were slowly quietly combing your hair. It was a pleasant, calm moment. I felt the silence of the room and could almost hear you growing. You combed without a mirror, your eyes distant and pale, your head slowly nodding like the head of a stroked animal.
Xerxes the King sent out a spy who returned to camp, astonished to say...
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