all

nine

The ceiling speaks like a child
I am no longer the book first
In the wants of all
Only her last favorite
Unerring belief yours be
Gladly unhanded to so
Much more weeping
Silence all tongue-holders
To live and be

Glad am I in this room
The eyes ever to look down
Only were yours, my ceiling
The ones ever to know why,
You had told, I am still listening
It will rain on February
And, at last, all from you will leak;
You nature on my cheek
And I will be glad
To live and be