THERE'S A TREASURE
My heart - so stupid - always wants to be
an open book. It gets me nowhere, all the
striving to be. The wind still blows, the rain
comes down. I am happy, but oh in such
difficult ways. Every so often, it seems,
someone else dies : another coffin to visit,
another cadaver to glimpse. We bury the
dead with cold hearts but warm feelings.
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