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WHEN WINTER LODGED INSIDE
When winter lodged inside,
All my musings abandoned me:
I went into the blankets to hide,
And had no want of poetry.
How black the dark lamp lights the mind,
Smirks at my solitude:
Wave on wave of blackness with the tide,
I had no hope and no sense of gratitude:
Then my hand as with a memory of its own,
Brought me back -The Nightingale by Keats.
I remembered, he, with himself alone,
His brother dead, his life reduced to weeks:
Is deadness the essence of my essential?
Born to bring my fragile mind into the ethernity