I believe you did not have a happy life. I believe you were cheated. I believe your best friends were loneliness and misery. I believe your busiest enemies were anger and depression. I believe joy was a game you could never play without stumbling. I believe comfort, though you craved it, was forever a stranger. I believe music had to be melancholy or not at all. I believe no trinket, no precious metal, shone so bright as your bitterness. I believe you lay down at last none the wiser and unassuaged. Oh, cold and dreamless under wild, amoral, reckless, peaceful flowers of the hillsides.
Spot on. Mary Oliver.
I was just thinking these days that you rarely If ever suggested a woman's writings among your highly recommended readings... 'Bitterness' by Mary Oliver is a start... 🤔👍
Keep it coming...