by Dorothy Parker

In May, my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.
And when it came November,
I sought my heart and sighed,
"Poor thing, do you remember?"
"What heart was that?" it cried.


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Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all.
Dorothy Parker
Dorothy Parker

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