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Poems That Make Grown Women Cry by
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Alena
is on page 225 of 352
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited the world.
Mary Oliver "When Death Comes"
— Jun 02, 2025 06:44AM
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if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited the world.
Mary Oliver "When Death Comes"
Alena
is on page 146 of 352
A lively understandable spirit
Once entertained you.
It will come again.
Be still.
Wait.
"The Lost Son" Roethke
— May 30, 2025 05:33AM
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Once entertained you.
It will come again.
Be still.
Wait.
"The Lost Son" Roethke
Alena
is on page 128 of 352
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
W. H. Auden "Funeral Blues"
— May 25, 2025 04:56PM
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My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
W. H. Auden "Funeral Blues"
