And as for
me and my lifeNot to be healthy,
Nor strong
Nor wise.
But to be a plague upon myself.
A withering, wilting
loving hand to flowers plucked.
And a passing breeze, whether
warm or cold,
to any other.
| And as for
me and my life Not to be healthy, Nor strong Nor wise. But to be a plague upon myself. A withering, wilting loving hand to flowers plucked. And a passing breeze, whether warm or cold, to any other. |