I know some lonely houses off the road

La balade aux jardins actuels, 38

I know some lonely houses off the road

I laid me down upon a bank

It was not death,

and wondered Why was cupid a boy ?

Is this only the The lamentation of the old pensioner

but She dealt her pretty words like blades

Whatever, When you are old

There’s a certain slant of light

that reveals one’s truth.

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