Hooray! Fio walked the neighborhood cul-de-sac this afternoon, and IT WAS WARM! Guess that means the dregs of winter are over. Now if she can just get those teeny little black bugs out of her bathroom sink.....
This is a poem Dorothy rote long ago, and don't ask who "she is" is because Fio was still living at home back then:
Suicide
Ah, Dorothy, your choice was much too rash:
There are other options I could recommend
Than poison, razors, nooses, guns, or gas
To bring about a graceful, private end
The suffocation of the spirit's one--
On shallow breaths. hope is inclined to smother,
An assault on the heart can get it done
The strangulation of the soul's another
Then you still could walk about, though dead--
A lumbering, slack-jawed zombie, hollow-eyed
You'd grin and bow and nod your foolish head
With no one guessing you're a suicide
Don't think that, knowing any would be grieved
My own experience is, they'd be relieved
I've given you this poem before, but it can bare repeating
I AM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LONELY!
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