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       Mon moi, Ils m’arrachent mon moi


I will be lonely at half past dead

Weep none one or many beside my bed.

At the dead center of all alone

I must unwillingly work at dying

I will be crying crying crying

Not I not I this flesh these bones.

from Isabella Gardner: The Collected PoemsFind it in the library

Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2011
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on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.

Published in Isabella Gardner Poems

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