February 2011
January 2011
Dooderonomy 29:5.9
And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: I’ve no thanks to nature for these gifts - Just a need to vent my spleen…
In the Old Age of the Soul
I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me Some strange old lust for deeds. As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning, So to my soul grown old - Grown old with many a jousting,...
