To D— Dead By Her Own Hand
My dear,
I wonder if before the end You ever thought about a children’s game— I’m sure you must have played it too—in which You ran along a narrow garden wall Pretending it to be a mountain ledge So steep a snowy darkness fell away On either side to deeps invisible;
And when you felt your balance being lost You jumped because you feared to fall, and thought For only an instant:
That was when I died.
That was a life ago.
And now you’ve gone,
Who would no longer play the grown-ups’ game Where, balanced on the ledge above the dark,
You go on running and you don’t look down,
Nor ever jump because you fear to fall.
Howard Nemerov was born on February 29th, 1920 in New York.
He died of cancer at his home in University City,
Missouri on July 5th 1991.
Howard Nemerov
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When in still air and still in summertimeA leaf has had enough of this, it To make up its mind to go; fine as a Its drifting in detachment down the road Howard Nemerov was born on February 29th, 1920 in New York
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