How I wish to kill!
How I wish
Not to kill!
The thief I have caught
Is my own son.
There is no one
Who dyes them,
But of themselves
The willow is green,
The flowers red.
Were I a king, pensively
Would I pace the corridors of the palace.
The path I walk goes through the pine-trees;
The sea is blue, a butterfly flits by.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
I came across this old photo the other day. It's of Whitney Houston in traditional Swazi clothing. I don't remember when this was...... -
I was sitting at home this week watching the kombies and open-backed lorries go past, cram-full of excited singing girls on their way to...
HAROLD BUDD: go in peace
Harold Budd Back in the 70s I had a friend called Howard, who lived in Wimbledon village, and we met regularly to listen to and discuss ou...
No comments:
Post a Comment