Rhianon, he said, hold my hand, Rhianon.

She did not hear him, but stood over his bed and fixed him with an unbroken sorrow.

Hold my hand, he said, and then: why are your putting the sheet over my face?

Dylan Thomas

Mots clés death sorrow rhianon the-visitor

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But then he touched the flowers
With the dry tips of his fingers.
"Tell me how men kiss you.
Tell me how you kiss.

Anna Akhmatova

Mots clés the-visitor russian-poetry the-guest

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