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62

Friday, March 2, 1928

I saw a [[strikethrough]] the [[strikethrough] ]pedder on the street, [[strikethrough]] and a tin [[strikethrough]] an unlend[?] [[strikethrough]] small [[strikethrough]] Tin cup in his hand, and marks of pain
Deep on his face, a sign which said "I am Blind" On a string, and in an hand a cane.
On which he had to [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] [[?torteyly]] lean.
He put his groping fingers in the cup to find
The dime
And said "It's not so bad being blind [[strikethrough]] ". [[strikethrough]]
A time
To see things as they should be seen." 
 
63
Saturday, March 3, 1928

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Afternoon Tea

Across the table stands the brownish pot
And in your cup the steaming golden team,
Suspiciously you left it up to see
For certain if it [[strikethrough]] really [[/strikethrough]] is [[strikethrough]] too [[/strikethrough]] to piping hot.
And on your saucer lies the yellow slice
Of lemon [[strikethrough]] just [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] in a Jug some ivory cream.
The last rays of the sun;  the slender stream
of [[strikethrough]] [[?st]] [[/strikethrough]] greying smoke;  the tinkling cubes of ice
In [[strikethrough]] grey [[/strikethrough]] blue-white water float. These make us feel
This understanding is a thing unreal,
That as two heart-beats have become but one.
That we are figures for a painting by Cezanne.
Wire comfortable, secure, alone when we,
Escaped into the melting afternoon, drink tea.