Is it so necessary
For a wild memory
To fade and blur
Before the full charge
Of an old love or rage
Can really register?
With a life’s long perspectives
The changed picture gives
More depth and scope
As twisted faces shrink
To little more than pink
Blobs on its landscape . . .
A passion, sharp and hot,
Might once have seized the heart
To rip or scald.
So far as this can be
Recalled in tranquility
It’s not recalled.
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