e. e. Cummings Poem

in spite of everything

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in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds

—before leaving my room
i turn, and(stooping
through the morning)kiss
this pillow,dear
where our heads lived and were.

you are not going to,dear. You are not going to and
but if I should say

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GIF