When I die, I want to decompose in a barrel of porter and have it served in all the pubs in Dublin.
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Sunday, February 19, 2012
the dead poet society.
there’s something chilling
about visiting a
dead poet’s grave-
to stand under the dull
winter sun, watching the
wind disturb the notes someone
left for her and wondering
where she found the
inspiration for her
epitaph.
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