A kind in glass and a cousin, a spectacle and nothing strange a single hurt color and an arrangement in a system to pointing. All this and not ordinary, not unordered in not resembling. The difference is spreading.
Between two trees, he sways—
one root in the earth, one reaching sky,
bound by a thread of light
to the quiet pull of space.
His head tips down,
but his eyes turn inward,
searching the seams of shadow
for a crack, a tremor,
a way out of the silence.
When cats run home and light is come,<br/>
And dew is cold upon the ground,<br/>
And the far-off stream is dumb,<br/>
And the whirring sail goes round,<br/>
And the whirring sail goes round;<br/>
Alone and warming his five wits,<br/>
The white owl in the belfry sits.
CHORUS<br/>
The world's great age begins anew,<br/>
The golden years return,<br/>
The earth doth like a snake renew<br/>
Her winter weeds outworn:<br/>
Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam<br/>
Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.
PieFed
juan_spanishwritings
queerlilhayseed
zloubida
Five
SnokenKeekaGuard
