if you walk among the ravens: you must croak like they do: even if your have a kestrel perched upon your garden fence; to mind the affairs of worthy substitute in their affair of a democratic electorate; the dire breed of their wake, with wintry telling is a scoop of a lost germanism lost upon me... not with the current choice of subject my kin'dred... the kestrel upon my fence: a Ukraine i breathe: sokół... scare me away from your little prized fancy in pigeon-talk! a falcon perched on my garden fence: while your kingship calls your walls a tower! Volyn! Lviv! Rivine! i can see a face in the mud: then fling it into America and call it: the alternative to a plastician's gesture! am i not allowed to live an "ancient" life: simply because the modern life tires you?