[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T.S.Eliot
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Monday, August 1, 2022
This year's crop
This year's crop. Not that much, after all. What remains in my hands after the sad story I've just experienced is a lot of regrets and a handful for seeds to plant. I can only wish they will bring me new fresh energy and motivation.
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