And it was at that age. Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don`t know. I don`t know where it came from.
from winter or a river
I don`t know how or when
no , they were not voices, they
were not
words, nor silence,
but from the street I was summoned
from the branches of night
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me
-Pablo Neruda
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I love this poem
Just had to re-post it
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