After [Frost]
Whose woods these are I think I know.
But Tiger's in the clubhouse now,
And will not see me swinging here
Pretending that I am a pro.
My carping caddy thinks it's queer. . .
I can't go on. The horror is that I haven't been able to write a thing more complicated than my name since I quit smoking four months ago. And then one night I dreamed a poem, a glorious piece, stunning in conception and execution. Woke up to this punishment.
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Ralph
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