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Monticello

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Your spirit is not here,
    asleep beneath the stone,
    Constrained within this obelisk --
       fence-bound, silent, dark and still;
    These are but thy bones that rest.

Nor are you bound by brick
    nor glass nor architected wood --
    Thy house is a reflection,
       -- a lantern, not a tomb --
    Of the warm illumination of thy heart.

You live yet
     In the hollyhocks and pinks,
        nasturtiums, chamomile and thyme,
     Green and new and surprising
        in the sea-kale and the spinach,
     Vigorous and live
     nourishing your children
        Body, Mind and Soul.

Still you speak, the work endures, the garden grows --
        A legacy of life.