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There is no fear of death; only its passage; it Cries those hollow tears; those pretensions; the Infinite attitudes; the dissembling years, when Alteration was in progress; and the smile, the Clever act; the deceptions continued. It is the Laugh; can you hear it? I can, and my poor heart Is full of sadness: when life departs, see, there Can be no farewell, only that deprecatory gesture; The wave of the hand, the hat proffered? The Miniscule grand act, which really, no one cares About, and no one notices. I embrace, gladly, What comes; and I endure, bravely, its suffering; This stoic sense is irreversible: you know, sure, Yes, you know, the tragedy is crystal clear, and Etched in the departing spirit. What I was, then, Flashes across my mind, and the mind accepts it Gratefully, the lost memories; times are flickering Possibilities now; brief interludes, slowly fading.  Monotype Medium: oil Size: 19" x 24" Title: the home of Jean François Millet (9) |