Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Where she went

It well may be that in a difficult hour,

Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

Excerpt from “Love is not all:
it is not meat nor drink.”

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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