14 de setembro de 2009

A garden of your going...

I made a house of houselessness, 
A garden of your going: 
And seven trees of seven wounds 
You gave me, all unknowing: 
I made a feast of golden grief 
That you so lordly left me, 
I made a bed of all the smiles 
Whereof your lip bereft me: 
I made a sun of your delay, 
Your daily loss, his setting: 
I made a wall of all your words 
And a lock of your forgetting. 

- Rose O'Neill -

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