LIKE burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of yon pyramid
Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.
Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.
Angel of hope and calendars, do you know despair?
That hole I crawl into with a box of Kleenex....
Hi there! Welcome to my Buddy List. If you ask to be my Buddy and I have never chatted with you, please do not expect to wind up here. Even if I do know you, please do not be offended if I do not accept you until I know you quite well. I am not mean or rude, just a bit reserved. I keep my list quite short. Thanks for understanding.
Pippen40 The person who picked up my broken pieces when I ran away and fell apart. My friend and the friend of my children for years. The one with the positive attitude to continues to lift me up, despite your own troubles. Allow me in your trials to support you and hold you up. You are so special to me.
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