There Must Be Words
THIS wound will be effaced as others have,This scar recede into oblivion,Leaving the skin immaculate and suave,With none to guess the thing they gaze upon.After a decent show of mourning I,As once I ever was, shall be as freeTo look on love with calm unfaltering eye,And marvel that such fools as lovers be.
These are brave words from one who like a childCuts dazzling arabesques on summer iceThat, kissed by sun, begins to crack and thaw;The old assurance dies, only the wildDesire to live goes on; any deviceCompels its frantic grasp, even a straw.
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