The fragile heart of the dark
tall boy was whimpering.

The thought of loosing what
once made his heart skip a beat
mad him flat and pale.

He felt the immense hollow as
the cryinh grew thicker inside him.

He was stripped of all the bright
things in life and left alone in the dark.

He was worn out,
for his one true love left him
and was never to be found.

The Sloth by Theodore Roethke

In moving-slow he has no Peer. You ask him something in his Ear, He thinks about it for a Year; And, then, before he says a Word There, upside down (unlike a Bird), He will assume that you have Heard— A most Ex-as-per-at-ing Lug. But should you call his manner Smug, He'll sigh and give his Branch a Hug; Then off again to Sleep he goes, Still swaying gently by his Toes, And you just know he knows he knows.

The Sentence by Anna Akhmatova

  And the stone word fell On my still-living breast. Never mind, I was ready. I will manage somehow. Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again— Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling Is like a festival outside my window. For a long time I've foreseen this Brilliant day, deserted house.