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VERSE by Eric Rosenbloom copyright 1999 All that was dear to me that I have lost Would fill a hall were memory so strong To catalog their name and form and cost And who if not myself had done the wrong— Remembrance, though, like time, is not so long And not compelled — the soul has other needs, And thrives amidst regret in sweeter song: What sense has known of love it hoards like seeds That grow and blossom where the mind's eye reads. |