Monday, 24 September 2012

Exquisite pain

There is a man who loves my son.  He says 'Oh his hair, his lovely hair, I wish I had that hair... oh it's so - oh.' He wants to touch it, he wants his youth, he wants to end his longing. He wants to live his life again. 

He can have him no more than I can because youth goes on while we stand and care.
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go. 
There now my friend, I quote some Blake to reflect you.

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