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Source: Favim

That poet you scorned

for retiring when he was forty,

then beginning thirty years later

with the same voice and style

The crack in his life invisible

What he said in youth

and approaching death

having the same breath

that precise pitch

unaffected by time

What a wonder I think now

after all those wars and eras

of love he must have passed through

not one gesture altered

as he wrote, as if he always slept

this way beside her

What could we learn

by leaving the color blue

for another?

~ Michael Ondaatje