It may not always be so;
And i say
That if your lips,
Which i have loved,
Should touch
Another's,
And your dear strong fingers clutch
His heart,
As mine in time not far away;
If on another's face your sweet hair lay
In such a silence as i know,
Or such
Great writhing words as,
Uttering overmuch,
Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
If this should be,
I say if this should be
You of my heart,
Send me a little word;
That i may go unto her,
And take her hands,
Saying,
Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,
And hear one bird
Sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
Writer(s): Bjork Gudmundsdottir, E. E. Cummings
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