Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold


Always I knew that it could not last

(Gathering clouds, and the snowflakes flying),

Now it is part of the golden past

(Darkening skies, and the night-wind sighing);

It is but cowardice to pretend.

Cover with ashes our love’s cold crater —

Always I’ve known that it had to end

Sooner or later.


Always I knew it would come like this

(Pattering rain, and the grasses springing),

Sweeter to you is a new love’s kiss

(Flickering sunshine, and young birds singing).

Gone are the raptures that once we knew,

Now you are finding a new joy greater —

Well, I’ll be doing the same thing, too,

Sooner or later.


-Dorothy Parker

It’s amazing I have the time and masochism to read wondrous, yet painfully bitter, poetry 7 days before fieldcamp


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