One March afternoon in 1969 I was on the deck of a Chinese junk listening to the water clop against the wooden hull and enjoying a breeze that blew toward the South China Sea. The junk bobbed ... [+]
"Part of me dies within me,"
you said.
But why?
But why won't you cry, and wail, and roar?
Because the cryer, the wailer, the roarer
is dead.
Dead
but not alseep.
Then tell me.
Tell me why are you sad, distressed and heartbroken?
That's the echo of the dead,
whisper of the ghost.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
you said.
But why?
But why won't you cry, and wail, and roar?
Because the cryer, the wailer, the roarer
is dead.
Dead
but not alseep.
Then tell me.
Tell me why are you sad, distressed and heartbroken?
That's the echo of the dead,
whisper of the ghost.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.