Sitting With the Ghost of Mr. D.H. Lawrence

Sitting outside with the poetry
Of Mr. D.H Lawrence
I feel like I have a bowling ball perched
Between my shoulders
Heavy and dense
Likely to pull me headfirst to the floor at any moment
Beside me I sense him glaring at me
With his thin and handsome face
Eyes rolling
Finally he whispers
"Here is one you can grasp:
'I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Even you should get the gist of that.
It was in a movie after all."

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