As part of my job, I consider donations for the library.
I came across a book of poetry by Pablo Neruda, opened it up and came across this passage:
"What can I do if the star chose me
no flash with lightning, and if the thorn
guided me to the pain of so many others.
What can I do if every movement
of my hand brought me closer to the rose?
Should I beg forgiveness for this winter,
the most distant, the most untainable
for that man who used to seek out the chill
without anyone suffering because of his happiness?
And if somewhere on those roads:
- distant France, numerals of fog -
I return to the extent of my life:
a lonely garden, a poor district,
and suddenly this day equal to all others
descends the stairs that do not exist
dressed in irresistible purity,
and there is the odor of sharp solitude,
of humidity, of water, of being born again:
what can I do if I breathe my own air,
why will I feel wounded to death? "
- - -from a collection called Winter Garden.