Sunday, December 22, 2024 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

Richard Wilbur

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My dog lay dead five days without a grave
In the thick of summer, hid in a clump of pine
And a jungle of grass and honey-suckle vine.
I who had loved him while he kept alive
Went only close enough to where he was
To sniff the heavy honeysuckle-smell
Twined with another odor heavier still
And hear the flies' intolerable buzz.

 
Richard Wilbur

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