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when was I anything,
when was I brave.

we are all mostly frightened,

all much the same.
we sit quietly here, fretting

over nothing in particular.



some bemoan their lot,

others get on with it willingly.



stop and have a cup of tea.



while others walk in #ice and mud,

while others #drown,

while others #starve.



without a #cup of tea.
Brian died
taking
part of me
with him

The part
that he
lent me
in 1966

Brian died
and the
colors
diminished

The notes
out of rhythm
and time
— left unmixed

(Pet Sounds-Ocean City N.J.: July, 1966)
wish i wrote like you guys, wish it were more direct.



it has been noted as abstract, yet i cannot see that.



he wanted a garden, this one. we  looked

at other houses, he wanted this one.



with

a garden as seed for the future.



when he died i let it grow and hid here. now

i tidy , grow seeds for the future.
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