For some reason, it is the word "lamination"
That springs into my mind without request.
There must be something of that lovely book,
The Lamentation of Jeremiah
(The third dynasty of the city Ur?)
That explains the way that thoughts seem mirrors-
The way protective gloss may seem a wail
(Like seeing your lover among the damned
While the boatman will not turn his ship aside
In spite of violent protestation),
But the pain of the past is a shadow
That the future crafts into an aria.
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