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'ta 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

like disaster