ANDREW TOPOLSKI
Once , I knew a fine song,
-It is true, believe me,-
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
Heavens! they all flew away.
I cried : "Come back, little thoughts! "
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and the sky.
Stephen Crane
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