Something great has died.
And she plays the songs and sings
beautifully to them from another room.
And the songs will go on spilling out
defiling the beautiful world we all live in.
Or more likely beautifying the defiled
world we all live in.
An idea, a deed, a temper.
It has died. Gone over. Returned.
Whatever.
But something great has died and I
can't at this moment imagine another planet or another time ever
experiencing such greatness again.
Look back in anger.
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