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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 bcdfgajhlmnprsst 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.