Poetries as a form of literature are still evergreen and wouldn’t seem to die down ever. It’s a form of expression and understanding.
Though one may be able to make out the rough meaning
Poetry has always been a form of expression, years and years on end, the form has changed, but poetry remains evergreen. A stated fact, in earlier times, during the times of Geoffrey Chaucer,
The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intentto be lost that their loss is no disaster,Lose something every day. Accept the flusterof lost door keys, the
Turning and turning in the widening gyreThe falcon cannot hear the falconer;Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhereThe ceremony of innocence
Light the first light of evening, as in a roomIn which we rest and, for small reason, thinkThe world imagined is the ultimate good.
This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.It is in that thought
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