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A Poem to My Clothes Closet The shadows see-saw on the walls, And through the window comes gray light. I lie and cogitate all night About my brown quilt-peasant-jacket.89 If I should make a dress from it, It will be short, with a tight fit, Nevertheless— It's still worth something, such a dress. Then I lie in devout, ecstatic guilt And think about my jacket of brown quilt.90 Meanwhile the bed gives a push and a pull, And creaks like an old enemy: Fool, A dress more, a dress less, The main thing is, your hair's a mess. And the old cat meows with a wide-opened throat: —Sometimes I, too, change the patches on my coat, So don't be such a stingy flibbertigibbet, And bid farewell to your brown peasant jacket. Then I lie in devout, ecstatic guilt And think about my jacket of brown quilt. 273 h ,yr-H nytnyn H axn'a &-ixn ojnjr -H rx iyp^t 'i^ x nynyix^n m tr?TX ]XD ^ S X ttoiyVs n ^ pms iix am x px ixa njnw •'ITS irbxi^s T^X |^xn nyi ]ix n nyi px m isria px ^s H DXH ,DVyi oyni Vys px •pT OEXJ pS ''ll tnxn DDX^ |ya DDIT X "'ll ^ 274 ...

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