Each day I'm plagued by three doles,
These gargantuan weights on my soul:
First, that I must somehow EXIT this fen.
Second, because I cannot know WHEN.
And yet it's the third that torments me so,
Having no way to know where the HELL I will go!
('Ech day me cometh tydinges thre' loose translation by Michael R. Burch; keywords: doles, dolor, tidings, sorrow, pain, depression, lament)
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To My Daughter~As you embark on your journey of another 1000 books,
another trip to the library, filling your knapsack with treasures, you make your father, mother and all the bookworms proud. The night the flame burned we jest. You were three at the time and tucked hidden beneath the blankets was your silhouette, flashlight, and books in hand, as you read long into (another) night. The days of your life like a tent of good tidings, too, as you camped out on the doorsteps of another book.
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