Not writing my thesis

the other guineahen
died of a broken heart and we came to New York.
I used to sit at a table,drawing wings
with a pencil that kept breaking and i kept

remembering how your mind looked when it slept
for several years,to wake up asking why.
So then you turned into a photograph

of someone trying not to laugh
at someone trying not to cry

-E.E. Cummings

This might just be one of my all time favorite poems.