m&ms487
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2009 16 August :: 11.07pm
To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,
Scentless, colourless, THIS!
Will it ever be thus (who knows?)
If we wait till the close?
Tho' we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end
Sooner, later, at last,
Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:
An end locked fast,
Bent we cannot re-bend.
-Christina Rossetti "Summer is Ended"
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