the mist

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You do see me crossing the meadow
stiff and dead from the mist?
I long for that home,
that home I’ve never had,
and without any hope
that I’ll ever be able to reach it.
For such a home, never touched,
I carry that longing that will
never die, like that meadow dies
stiff and dead from the mist.
You do see me crossing it, full of dread?
~ Robert Walser, Oppressive Light: Selected Poems by Robert Walser

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