The very thing(s) you claim to possess might very well be possessing you instead.
Category: Food for Thought
This is possibly the saddest poem I have ever read.
You would have to have a hard heart indeed not to feel pity for Clare and to hear the utter truth, sincerity and pathos of ‘I Am”.
“How do I feel? Well, I don’t know how to say it. I feel, I feel, I feel like spring after winter, and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps and all the songs I have ever heard!”
The old hoard the Night shall keep, / while earth waits and the Elves sleep.