I pass my time with the living dead
As I sit in my home, alone,
As spectres range through my fevered head,
I don't have a telephone,
...
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Your writing has touched my soul. You're not so old to live alone, go on streets, meet people too, haven't you children? Maybe your poems are yours. I send you big good morning.
Your writing has touched deep in my soul. Your not old enough to live alone with books only. Open your window, go to the streets, meet people. Haven't you children or friends? I send you big good morning.