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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
What art today will last for centuries?
. @Paulette @Michouxe @Frank @takafromtokyo @Wirginia @chyijung @leigh01 @pridepoc @Saira @mouna @mohit_singh @mheredge @GemmaRowlands @Zom @Danesh @Yellowtail @NickTom @Deucalion @Pate @Goulart @Shishio13
@momochan @kindgnice @Saira @Zom @Xanthippe
So much of the things we buy today seem only to last for a little while.
Our attention span seems to just a few seconds until the next click
The museums are filled with creations of centuries of long ago
What is the art of this generation that will endure for centuries?