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Time does not bring relief;
You all have lied
Who told me time
Would ease me of my pain!
I miss him
In the weeping of the rain;
I want him
At the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt
From every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves
Are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving
Must remain
Heaped on my heart,
And my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places
Where I fear to go,
-- so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief
Some quiet place
Where never fell his foot
Or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken,
So remembering him!

-Edna St. Vincent Millay
'Renascence'

You are the person to visit

Article on Oakland in the Dallas Observer

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