e.e. cummings

in spite of everything...

 Next Poem          

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn,and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

Next Poem 

 Back to
e.e. cummings