“I can wade grief, whole pools of it,—”

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cf. A. McFarlin, “A Symphony” (ca. 1918)

I can wade grief,
Whole pools of it,—
I ’m used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip—drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
’T was the new liquor,—
That was all!

–Emily Dickinson

Sad lady, blue lady…

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