Gathered in page by page,
Where once we bound in sheaves,
The little songs of age
Come as our autumn leaves.
The old volcanoes sleep.
But sometimes, ere the end,
Out of the quiet deep
Some thought will rise and rend.
(Dame Mary Gilmore DBE)
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Based on Topics: Mind Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Sleep Poems, Age PoemsBased on Keywords: volcanoes