The frozen deadness gives me chills.
I run my fingers across a stone,
surrounded by others, yet so alone.
There's nothing here and there's nothing there.
The spirits of these are all elsewhere.
Oh me! How silly I am ! And so young!
I turn and flee and hurry home.
I know not one beneath dirt lying.
Why then, foolish heart, am I crying?
No, not for those who have gone away,
But yes, for those who have to stay.
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