In lacquered boxes, six feet down,
Rest whispers of the unbought crown -
The paintings left in mental drafts,
The kindness stored away in crafts.
Between the satin folds they place
The morning walks at slower pace,
The letters crumpled, never sent,
The wild dreams left unbent.
A coffee-stained rejection slip,
The novel's pages, torn and ripped,
Three cigarettes crushed in despair
When winter stripped our...
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