A poem for today~
Cherry Blossom Storm
by Henri Cole
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.
Coleridge, "The Three Graves"
"Draping my body in the usual sterile manner, they placed me in a supine position and adequate general anesthesia was obtained. Then a collar incision was made at the base of my neck and the strap muscles incised, the dissection continuing sharply over both my lobes as inferior vessels and veins were isolated, ligated, and divided, the cut surfaces like a cherry blossom storm, except for a small amount of beefy red identified at the pole. Awakening later, I heard a voice muttering: Don't worry about adultery (he sleeps in a different room). Don't go down after midnight. Don't take tranquillizers. Don't love. Don't hate. Sometimes, the paralysis of a soul awakens it. Sometimes, awful things have their own kind of beauty."
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