I think friends are better than lovers, longer lasting, freer in their manners. Happier? Perhaps- but then, having so few of either, and living so short a time on earth, how would I know? hardly do we roll over, it seems, screaming in the cot, than the lid falls and after that, the clod.
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The
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ALYS COLUMBINE
TRYPTICH
Futility
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POEMS
FOR FORT WORTH
