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 everyday. 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 beloved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cites, 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 a disaster.
