Comfort is OverratedHow romantic are you, dear?
I ask because you say you're
Hungry. Sadly, I am out of bread
And jam, and almost everything,
But no grandeur comes with eating.
One turns fat, gets sluggish, sleeps.
Think how much greater it would be
To be discovered starved to death,
A poem in your hands.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 102 times
Written on 2019-10-05 at 18:28
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