The Anthology
No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, Let’s choose executors and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to…
A members’ writing from The Anthology — this is an honest preview. Read the full piece on The Book of Unger.
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