Oakley Creek

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OK, so where exactly are we…?

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nerve

Came across this lovely poem by Emily Dickinson

If your Nerve, deny you

If your Nerve, deny you—
Go above your Nerve—
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve—

That’s a steady posture—
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms—
Best Giant made—

If your Soul seesaw—
Lift the Flesh door—
The Poltroon wants Oxygen—
Nothing more—