The art of losing isn’t hard
to master;
so many things seem filled
with the intent
to be lost that their loss is
no disaster.
Lose something every day.
Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour
badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard
to master.
Then practice losing farther,
losing faster:
places, and names, and where
it was you meant
to travel. None of these will
bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And
look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved
houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard
to master.
I lost two cities, lovely
ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two
rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a
disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking
voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied.
It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too
hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
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