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[Poems by Tabb in] Father Tabb

a study of his life and works with uncollected and unpublished poems

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RUTS
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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RUTS

I count the wrinkles in the road,
As men are wont to trace
The ravages of Time and Thought
Upon a human face.
Such are the vestiges of feet
That day by day appear,
And such of sightless memories
Whose track alone is here.