From "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden
If only I knew of those gestures
that woke me up to warmth.
How do I know, how do I know
the ways to repay the winter Sundays
that led me to indifferent offices.
I would have thanked him now that
I know regretful cold sheets he'll
never warm again and wake to my
mutterings of thanks.
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