I have left a lot behind:
->Some lives, a few papers - tumbling in a ravine...
-> A few books, with souls bookmarked within...
-> A few souls in those books, bookmarking pages within...
Pages that I tore from lives
And then never opened to...
Lines I swallowed and slept over
Never to return to...
Paragraphs of days,
That had a lot to tell,
And then bid me goodnights, baddays, and goodbyes...
I forgot them all on purpose.
I made no place for them.
They were my books of course-
I had them printed.
They were my souls too-
I had them invited.
But I got fed up of them.
I got fed of lugging them around.
I got fed up of what they said.
And I got fed up of the tax I paid.
So I left as early as I could,
In the wee hours of the morn.
And took a train to Nothingham.
A letter arrived the other day
As the wind swept my balcony.
Its postmark I recognized
As the Sun paced in the gallery.
I held it for a while.
I weighed its many pros.
And I also noted its cons.
It's then that I knew its business
Was no longer to be mine.
So I crumpled it up,
Stamped it down,
And flung it merrily down the aisle.
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