By Posted here
March 23, 2009
0 comments
Share this poem:
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • FriendFeed
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • PDF
  • Print
  • email

Things

There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.

— Fleur Adcock

Leave a Comment

Previous post:

Next post:

Back to top