TWENTIETH CENTURY POEM In the tendrils
of their care Life's better for knowing
them They wash me, change
me, talk to me, Every morning they
pile up pillows a new patient, more
ill than me Like cattle at dusk
their faces I'm left alone -- as violence envelops Cicely Herbert |
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NINETEENTH CENTURY POEM Blue-eyed
and bright of face but waning fast W.E. Henley |
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