Ficly

Laying Down

“’Thou hast nor youth nor age but as it were an after dinner sleep- dreaming on both”

Have I died? It must be a queer kind of death-

like laying under water with the promise of
air and light. A kind of envy for the green and
scaly things, which have learned to metabolize water
into oxygen, light into existence.

I was too envious- and could not
turn fear to love.

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