I made a stick sweetheartbut unwilling to keep herI sent her awayto the cranes in the fieldsbut I did make her thinkof making herself happywith her strange fellow cranesin the dirt and the marlingenious treasurersof time and follywhere one is freethere is great plentyI want her stilltook her a glass of pure waterand hewed hera thin ice bed
the whole year as largeas one kiss in the kitchenthe fire is new and hotand are we happy lovingthe little death no reasonfor hurry nowwe bless with mouth to earthat sudden note
in the book of the bodyis there no other writing true as romancewhich is true and which falseof two children perfectly madejoined at their belliesand only one pair of legswhat work will make us fearthe consequence of ithow is holding youso large a music