This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
'For years now'
For years now through your face the skull has shown
Nearer than through their living surface
The hills' bulk of dead stone;
And for years, watching you sleeping in that chair,
I have wished you might die with your face and hands composed,
Quietly sleeping there,
And trusted death to be so easy on you
That now one moment you would be sleeping and now
...
Nearer than through their living surface
The hills' bulk of dead stone;
And for years, watching you sleeping in that chair,
I have wished you might die with your face and hands composed,
Quietly sleeping there,
And trusted death to be so easy on you
That now one moment you would be sleeping and now
...
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