The author of The Janitor's Boy has grown up. Someone offered to put her through college provided she published nothing for a set number of years. Only time will tell whether a poet was saved or lost by the dictum. The present collection, a slim sheaf, is inadequate evidence. Much of it seems immature, much of it mannered, much of it imitative. There are lovely bits -- a few with an underlying philosophy that gives one pause. But vocabulary, verse form, content all seem static. However, we withhold judgement. This will sell.