Saturday, February 06, 2010

scribendi cacoethes


How needful to hope that I will be read
Long after this feeble body is dead.
To dream that the words which danced in my mind
Another, a stranger, will pleasing find;
One whom I never can speak to or meet
Will be my friend - that thought is sweet!

The truth, alack, is a tale oft told:
My books will never be bought or sold,
But remain unfinished, incomplete, unread,
For I'm remaindered before I'm well dead!

~ E.M.R.H. 6 February 2010

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