I don’t want to end up like that, falling asleep everywhere. Is there anything which will keep me awake? What must I do to open my eyes again and let the sunshine in?
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
—Elizabeth Bishop
And it’s clean and sweet and subtle.
They thought, in their infinite sadness and desperation, that grass would not grow on their soil for seventy-five years.
However, two years later, the world was back. Slowly, painfully, maybe against all odds. It was back.
I’d say I want my life back too…
…If it weren’t for that single blade of grass growing in the middle of my heart.