Love

XIX. Of All The Souls That Stand Create

XIX.

Of all the souls that stand create
I elected one.
When I realized he wasn’t right—
Figured I was done.

When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of shared toothpaste
Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away,—
Even then I’ll not care to speak to him—
Morning—night—or day.

 

Her rather famous final draft (sic). The more authentic (and accurately transcribed) version.

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