What's A Girl To Do?
P Patti Masterman
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And now, I find that I am in love with Yeats;
But was never fit to even touch his sole-
Let alone his SOUL.
I can love his words, though surely his moldering suit
Has already collapsed into itself, and been eaten
By tiny creatures possessing no sense of poetics.
I can know what ideas occupied him,
For an hour or a day, so long ago.
The past is it's own time machine, intrepid lover!
Bu şiiri puanla
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