The
art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so
many things seem filled with the intent
to
be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose
something every day. Accept the fluster
of
lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The
art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then
practice losing farther, losing faster:
places,
and names, and where it was you meant
to
travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I
lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last,
of three loved houses went.
The
art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I
lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some
realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I
miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even
losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I
love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the
art of losing’s not too hard to master
though
it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
