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The Hole in My Curtain
It is because of the hole in my curtain.
I have stared through the torn space
Into Life's tortured face
As she leaned low and treadled her loom,
Watching, watching for the inevitable doom.
And I have seen the haggard shadows flit
Over the tapestries she wove, bit by bit,
Feverishly, her lips shrieking gay lies;
And always the tired song in her endless eyes.
I have watched the Form with his weary
cynical face,
His pale smile, his definite, measured pace,
Gliding forward and gliding back like a
thing condemned
And calmly slitting Life's woven cloths
from end to end.
Into Life's tortured face
As she leaned low and treadled her loom,
Watching, watching for the inevitable doom.
And I have seen the haggard shadows flit
Over the tapestries she wove, bit by bit,
Feverishly, her lips shrieking gay lies;
And always the tired song in her endless eyes.
I have watched the Form with his weary
cynical face,
His pale smile, his definite, measured pace,
Gliding forward and gliding back like a
thing condemned
And calmly slitting Life's woven cloths
from end to end.
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