Pail
I was not sorry to see my heart creep so,
plodding brick elephants of snow,
I was not sorry to see my heart go.
I sent it off my all my might,
rather, it best should have gone
long before daylight,
I kissed it soft as dead flower sewn,
my eyes its eyes,
my song its song,
and never could a move prove wrong,
thus my heart crossed pitiless night,
with swell of glass in art of flight,
I could not mourn to see it go.
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