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January 21, 2012
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04.21.10 Sunday is gloomy; my hours are slumberless.  Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless.  Little white flowers will never awaken you—not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you.  Angels have no thought of ever returning you.  Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?

04.21.10

Sunday is gloomy; my hours are slumberless.  Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless.  Little white flowers will never awaken you—not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you.  Angels have no thought of ever returning you.  Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?