““My poor little child Karin Boye My poor child, so afraid of the dark, who has met ghosts of another kind, who always among those clad in white glimpses those with evil faces, now let me sing you gentle songs, from fright they free, from force and cramp. Of the evil they ask no repentance. Of the good they ask not for battle. See, you must know, that all that lives is deep inside of equal kind. Like trees and herbs it seeks to grow - pulled forward by its inner laws. And trees may fall and flowers wilt and branches break, their power lost, still the dream remains - awaits the call - in every living drop of sap. (205)””
