Anna Jackson
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    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
  • Home
  • Poems
  • Books
    • Pasture and Flock
    • I, Clodia, and other portraits
    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
    • Catullus for children
    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
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YOUR CART

Many the cities and many the seas I crossed on my way here.
 Here, brother, I come to grieve, and give the funeral rites
with all propriety, this, the last thing I’ll give to my brother
 to whose mute ashes I don’t know why I should speak.
I can’t argue with fate, and fate has taken you from me
 undeservedly so, wrenched you from out of time’s flow.
Now there is left for us nothing but this, an oldfashioned service,
 these sad, dutiful rites, done as instructed to do.
So accept this last tear flooded brother’s bequest
 now and forever yours   brother   hail and fare well.
 
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