All the flowers of the spring
Meet to perfume our burying;
These have but their growing prime,
And man does flourish but his time:
Survey our progress from our birth—
We are set, we grow, we turn to earth.
Courts adieu, and all delights,
All bewitching appetites!
Sweetest breath and clearest eye
Like perfumes go out and die;
And consequently this is done
As shadows wait upon the sun.
Vain the ambition of kings
Who seek by trophies and dead things
To leave a living name behind,
And weave but nets to catch the wind.

As you get older, you come to understand the economics of age.

You go through a cycle you see.

When you were new , you had  energy,
You developed, a state of Growth.
You reached your prime,
Your life was booming, a state of Prosperity.
- You were young

But eventually as time goes by,
Your hair begins to go, a Recession.
You're upset a lot, a Depression.
Your metabolism slows down,
Your stomach, It's bloated,
You're experiencing high levels of inflation.
- You are old.

And finally you understand that  you were just a loan that the world took out from the Banks of Life.
All loans must be repaid.
- You are going to die.

1596

Few, yet enough,
Enough is One—
To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
To stealthily belong?

Chiming a dream by the way
With ocean's rapture and roar,
I met a maiden to-day
Walking alone on the shore:
Walking in maiden wise,
Modest and kind and fair,
The freshness of spring in her eyes
And the fulness of spring in her hair.

Cloud-shadow and scudding sun-burst
Were swift on the floor of the sea,
And a mad wind was romping its worst,
But what was their magic to me?
Or the charm of the midsummer skies?
I only saw she was there,
A dream of the sea in her eyes
And the kiss of the sea in her hair.

I watched her vanish in space;
She came where I walked no more;
But something had passed of her grace
To the spell of the wave and the shore;
And now, as the glad stars rise,
She comes to me, rosy and rare,
The delight of the wind in her eyes
And the hand of the wind in her hair.

I liek dem chickens
I bought dem chickens
I lost dem chickens
Angels wept

I light the kindling
And a warm and orange glow
Fills the little room
Outside, from afar, wolves howl
As the moonlit snow sparkles

I’m a bit of a collector, me.
(I like discographies, personally)

Why I collect?
(It’s funny you ask.)

I never gave thought to obsession,
(Too busy obsessing.)

These are in order of release.
Those are alphabetical.
(Don’t touch them.)

I haven’t gotten round to those.
(Subsequently, I can’t look at them.)