My post on canine mortality reminded me of a poem that I read many years ago, but while looking for it online I came across the following by Fleur Adcock, which seemed to fit very well with my late-night post of yesterday. Dog Poem later.
Things
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse
and worse.
Brrrrr.
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