Two girls discoverthe secret of lifein a sudden line ofpoetry.
I who don't know thesecret wrotethe line.
Theytold me(through a third person)they had found itbut not what it wasnot evenwhat line it was.
No doubtby now, more than a weeklater, they have forgottenthe secret,the line, the name ofthe poem.
I love themfor finding whatI can't find,and for loving mefor the line I wrote,and for forgetting itso thata thousand times, till deathfinds them, they maydiscover it again, in otherlinesin otherhappenings.
And forwanting to know it,forassuming there issuch a secret, yes,for thatmost of all.
