"But finally you find that you have people of flesh and blood on your hands, people with will and an individual sensibility of their own, made out of component parts you are unable to change, manipulate or distort." (Harold Pinter)
We were here, together, not long ago, and you said you liked the place.
Restful and quiet, you said.
And now, watching the fresh grave, my eyes dry, I am wondering if you really left.
And she, silent, black-clad, is already in mourning, perhaps your true widow, unlike me, faithful…
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