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@daringinstincts

save me from myself don't let me drown

The swans are gone. Still the river Remembers how white they were. It strives after them with its lights. It finds their shapes in a cloud. What is that bird that cries With such sorrow in its voice? I am young as ever, it says. What is it I miss?

Sylvia Plath · “Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices.” The Collected Poems (1981)