I’ve tried to make God‘s dream
As pretty as can be:
I painted every gleam
Of sunlight on the sea;

And wrote each perfect note
The birds are wont to sing;
And sewed each glossy coat
The creatures sport in spring.

And yet, for all the art
That I was pleased to make,
I couldn’t mend my heart
Which happened once to break.

And so I live alone,
Unfeeling as a stone.

Photo by Artem Sapegin on Unsplash

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