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 Feb 2014 M M M
Jane Austen
When stretch'd on one's bed
With a fierce-throbbing head,
Which preculdes alike thought or repose,
How little one cares
For the grandest affairs
That may busy the world as it goes!

How little one feels
For the waltzes and reels
Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball!
How slight one's concern
To conjecture or learn
What their flounces or hearts may befall.

How little one minds
If a company dines
On the best that the Season affords!
How short is one's muse
O'er the Sauces and Stews,
Or the Guests, be they Beggars or Lords.

How little the Bells,
Ring they Peels, toll they Knells,
Can attract our attention or Ears!
The Bride may be married,
The Corse may be carried
And touch nor our hopes nor our fears.

Our own ****** pains
Ev'ry faculty chains;
We can feel on no subject besides.
Tis in health and in ease
We the power must seize
For our friends and our souls to provide.
 Feb 2014 M M M
brooke
i find myself waiting
for this happiness to
be brief, for a kick in
the a-frame, and my
legs snap together,
falling over like a
knocked easel
but I don't want
to live in fear of
fear, because I'm
just waiting to be
scared of something.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

does that make sense?
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