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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
are we honest with ourselves?
if we achieve to understand ourselves, we will be successful people.
How much time we need to understand our behaviour, to judge ourselves.
imagine if all the caracters of your personnality are within an other person, will you like or dislike him? will you be honest with him ?
take just a moment and think about it !