I made a house of houselessness,
A garden of your going:
And seven trees of seven wounds
You gave me, all unknowing:
I made a feast of golden grief
That you so lordly left me,
I made a bed of all the smiles
Whereof your lip bereft me:
I made a sun of your delay,
Your daily loss, his setting:
I made a wall of all your words
And a lock of your forgetting.
— Rose O’Neill
via Colleen Doran: https://colleendoran.tumblr.com/post/726289653606514688
Original: https://toots.dgplug.org/@jason/110930558717145597