In the corner of the living room was an album of unbearable photos, <br />many meters high and infinite minutes old, <br />over which everyone leaned <br />making fun of the dead in frock coats. <br /> <br />Then a worm began to chew the indifferent coats, <br />the pages, the inscriptions, and even the dust on the pictures. <br />The only thing it did not chew was the everlasting sob of life that broke <br />and broke from those pages.<br /><br />Carlos Drummond de Andrade<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dead-in-frock-coats/
