"moony" poems
Awakens not my wolf-man to the moon
For that it shines a silver discus full,
For he may rise when clouds the thickest dull
The round moon’s lustre, or when the clock strikes noon.
One sorceress alone doth have the pow’r
T’arouse the beast, and he doth her obey;
And from her side the beast doth never stray,—
So loveth him the witch and the witching hour.
Yet, by my troth, the wolf-man hath no love
For her and hers which greater is than mine:
By daylight, blackest night, or moony shine,
My love doth neither wax nor wane nor rove.
However, unlike the love the beast doth keep,
My love can’t wake, for it doth never sleep.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
Dim vales—and shadowy floods—
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can’t discover
For the tears that drip all over
Huge moons there wax and wane—
Again—again—again—
Every moment of the night—
Forever changing places—
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down—still down—and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain’s eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be—
O’er the strange woods—o’er the sea—
Over spirits on the wing—
Over every drowsy thing—
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light—
And then, how deep!—O, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like—almost any thing—
Or a yellow Albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before—
Videlicet a tent—
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies,
Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again
(Never-contented thing!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.
7.3k
The nature of infinity is this: That everything has its
Own Vortex, and when once a traveller thro' Eternity
Has pass'd that Vortex, he perceives it roll back behind
His path, into a globe itself infolding like a sun,
Or like a moon, or like a universe of starry majesty,
While he keeps onwards in his wondrous journey on the earth,
Or like a human form, a friend with whom he liv'd benevolent.
As the eye of man views both the east & west encompassing
Its vortex, and the north & south with all their starry host,
Also the rising sun & setting moon he views surrounding
His corn-fields and his valleys of five hundred acres square,
Thus is the earth one infinite plane, and not as apparent
To the weak traveller confin'd beneath the moony shade.
Thus is the heaven a vortex pass'd already, and the earth
A vortex not yet pass'd by the traveller thro' Eternity.
from The Illuminated Prophetic Books Milton
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
There is a boy
That I was
Absolutely enamored with
Awhile ago
I think part of what
Built up my
Obsession
Was our metaphors
“You’re so strong
Yet gentle;
So fierce but tender;
You’re nearly a lion”
“I can’t even stand how
Gorgeous you are
How you seem to know it all
My lovely, lovely Athena”
But the worst of all
What literally
Kept me up at night
Didn’t become a metaphor until today
We had a mutual love
Not of a typical interest
No; you see we were
Moon fanatics
He loved the moon
I loved the moon
And I have realized that I
Was ‘moony eyed’ over him
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
As the gods began one world, and man another,
So the snakecharmer begins a snaky sphere
With moon-eye, mouth-pipe, He pipes. Pipes green. Pipes water.
Pipes water green until green waters waver
With reedy lengths and necks and undulatings.
And as his notes twine green, the green river
Shapes its images around his sons.
He pipes a place to stand on, but no rocks,
No floor: a wave of flickering grass tongues
Supports his foot. He pipes a world of snakes,
Of sways and coilings, from the snake-rooted bottom
Of his mind. And now nothing but snakes
Is visible. The snake-scales have become
Leaf, become eyelid; snake-bodies, bough, breast
Of tree and human. And he within this snakedom
Rules the writhings which make manifest
His snakehood and his might with pliant tunes
From his thin pipe. Out of this green nest
As out of Eden's navel twist the lines
Of snaky generations: let there be snakes!
And snakes there were, are, will be--till yawns
Consume this pipe and he tires of music
And pipes the world back to the simple fabric
Of snake-warp, snake-weft. Pipes the cloth of snakes
To a melting of green waters, till no snake
Shows its head, and those green waters back to
Water, to green, to nothing like a snake.
Puts up his pipe, and lids his moony eye.
3.8k
Sweet dreams form a shade,
O’er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams
Sweet sleep with soft down.
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes,
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep sleep happy child,
All creation slept and smil’d.
Sleep sleep, happy sleep.
While o’er thee thy mother weep
Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee.
Thy maker lay and wept for me
Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see.
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,
Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small,
Infant smiles are His own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.
3.4k
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud
Two of us, alone, as one
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin
Your slender legs, columns that taught
The Greeks in Helens age, touched the water
And the sky. I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes
I hold your skin, my Selkie
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance
In the country of the sun
We end at the house in Umbria
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
it was like waking up to all white fume
or a long washline — masturbatory, feeling something stiff like a hand gliding
over a monsoon of emotions, the affect
jazz and the crunch of fragrance
forever like sandalwood;
on my way to Dumandan, i conjure an inward miasma of thrill, unfurled yesterday, today, or was it before when our eyes were fixated on the passing of things in myriad ways without any relevance to what has died, say wilted,
like a flower going away in closing seasons,
children in hurtling speeds at twilight,
gates welcoming a resounding sound of
rusting hinges,
slow rise of night, its vertical climb,
shadows collapsing on the Hibiscus
and the Poinsettia from the Cordillera,
dreary men taking out ******* throwing
them into metalloid beasts, verdigris
painted, grisly caravan of steel and
worthless scraps —
past neighborhoods thinking about
the simmer of onion and the hustle of
the feral over rooftops, clinking wine bottles undulating full to empty — both
unaware of acumen and only dizzying
ourselves mirroring each other eye
to eye and bridging this unclose-enough
a gap in between,
because you need it,
and i want it, or simply in reverse,
a sidewinding thought through dunes
of afterthought.
because you have to walk my side
of the Earth and I have to meet you
somewhere halfway where we can both
lounge at each other's steady presence
while the flyblown dry air ravishes
the piquant morning, all-telling what
this distance meant from its
peak up to the very last
traceable steps where i found you
and you found me, trilling in the neighborhood like how void
stills itself into all the mood of the Earth:
all moony and
fretting in the disquiet.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night
Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubted light,
Is the flame of life so fickle and wan
That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.
O man! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy wordly way,
And the billows of clouds that around thee roll
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day,
Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free
To the universe of destiny.
This world is the nurse of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel,
And the coming of death is a fearful blow
To a brain unencompass’d by nerves of steel:
When all that we know, or feel, or see,
Shall pass like an unreal mystery.
The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be,
Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear
No longer will live, to hear or to see
All that is great and all that is strange
In the boundless realm of unending change.
Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?
Who painteth the shadows that are beneath
The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?
Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be
With the fears and the love for that which we see?
2.5k
all i see now are the silent ruin
of words teeming with wisdom
in every trail. you are gleaming
in the moony boondocks,
Ibabá remembers you as you were -
timeless and ruminative,
pursuing the source of rivers.
our sublime versifier,
the crucifixes now tremble without
the fullness of your flesh.
each page is turned without
the hover of your voice yet
stills its resonant message in my mind's premises like redolent graffiti.
striding river-pace,
once in moonlit Orfeo
graced by your sibilant being,
leaving only the strongest of impression
on the surly couch, a toppled glass
of Shiraz remembering your attendance
leaving the clamor of the audiences
real to touch, elusive in thought.
before the war was the ever-present word, and after the fray was
the armistice of the Sun where in
humdrum Sampiro, your fire's genealogy
is in the hands of the muse!
idly go the hours, wading everlong past
Calle Herrán - the bells of Paco Church
tell in this imperfect hour
the roads where you once traversed,
travailed and perhaps beer-maddened,
putting a face in the metaphysical!
in your banquet i partake
the wisdom of your wine
and the reason of your flesh -
the gods delight in you,
o, Manila of all Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
Why does the moon keep on hiding their dark side,
Am I turning into just like you,
reflecting the bright and hiding in the dark night.
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 4:36 AM UTC
I'm a Hush marshmallow
Silky sunshine yellow
far from moony mellow
spelling spells of Hello
Risisng above the Hill
Just behind the mill
with much love to spill
giving you a thrill
from your window sill
I'm a ***** flight
of non stop delight
Naughty grown up child
playing husky wild
On a dusky night
I'm your cadbury
almond joy candy
Red soft jelly bean
box of A.B.C
Caramel nut me
I'm all you could think
I'll be your everything
Just to see you smile
Just to hear you sing
Rainbows I shall bring
You're my cuddly bear
full of tender care
with a hug to share
Tender soft whisper
Ripe and pulpy pear
You're the one i miss
with hot lips to kiss
You're a life of bliss
Passion flame of hiss
Sweet sugary delicous
You're my sandwich lunch
with that crispy crunch
I'm your Cuchi munch
You're my fruity punch
Handsome Honey Bunch
You're my sunshine man
Hundred out of ten
I'm your sol fun girl
a Rich Oyster's pearl
I'm your best pen fan.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 9:45 AM UTC
A lonesome quiet autumn night
With my twitching, pouring sight
Some just might, hold one tight
As lonesome as this quiet autumn night
With self-devouring, melancholy
I as many, you as few
We'll be alright in this chilly, jolly
quiet, moony midnight dew
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
I
They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!"
They called aloud, "Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
II
They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
"O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
III
The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, "How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
IV
And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
"O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
V
They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry ****
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
VI
And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, "How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!"
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, "If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,?
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
1.8k
When you weaned me from the waning moon,
its milky cusps, winking welcome
moods of starry surrender, I was lost
to my reflection rearranged
roughly on the window's pane.
Don't take flight yet, you said,
*first take the light's left hand
and keep it from the misbehaving oak,
its frightening reach.*
*There are beehive-capped angels
swinging there beneath, and they're angling
to gather moony souls
together in false hope.
Their absent promise is absolute,
and absolution.*
*They'll utter their nothings,
utterly sweet, if you let them,
and lull you with their yellow tongues.
Fly away with this light you now hold
and risk the falling.*
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
mischief and such wit
moony, wormtail, padfoot, prongs
they're the marauders
and when the job's done
wave your wand and just say this
'mischief managed!' done
cleverness present
but wasted on breaking rules
yet used for the fun
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
*What do these matter?
At the park,
There is an empty seat,
Where an ant pass food
To its kind.
An old tire lies
On an old rooftop–
Sometimes, a street kid
Smiles, playing with such.
The Stonehenge and
The Aurora Borealis.
The works of Pablo Neruda.
The Mona Lisa.
The Banawe Rice Terraces
And our being one,
Together. A kiss.
Our kiss.
Poems. Music. Epics. Wind.
Your yellow-painted fingernails.
The blue colors of this country.
The red arrow that bursts
Forth into kisses that drip
All over me. And just to
Gladly die for you. To die for you.
A coherent thought about love
Will always be proven false.
All we become and have to be
Is good ignorance. All we nearly had
Are but cruel clues that ever
So entice. All we ever witnessed
Are nomadic crumbs
Small beaks pecked along
The moony way.
And all sad waters, suns
And sacrificial stars
Will always burn down
Going South. But
What do these matter?
For these,
I am loving you,
Yet, even more.
Now death
Is even more confusing.
And our friend, Time, will soon
Be against us.
So, I am Leo.
And you are Pisces.
Love weaves secrets.
And men love mysteries.*
© 2014 J.S.P.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
the inexplicable lightness
of pure being
comes from subtly discerning
that the moony mind
is your nemesis....
silencing it
the stairway to heaven
© 2021
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 9:15 AM UTC
The water's dreamy, slowly flowing
Between the corners of the streets,
Adorned brightly with lantern lights,
While the midnight wind is blowing.
Their moony, rosy brows are glowing,
At the breezing Kyoto nights,
Presenting to many crowds sights
Who're beautiful, while on they're going.
A maiko here, a geisha there,
Fleeting around in the bright moonbeams,
Like sakura petals on a spring-night.
I ask, they are going to where,
Besides just ending up in dreams
With their paints who're red and white?
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
You can ride on my oldie bike for free
Yesterday I called in the double price
For the spark in her eyes that I see
Mellow on inside but tinted sharp eyes
Like a ripple in the water in calm night
Moony thoughts, paper like thin ****** cuts
Her careless thoughts meet her eyes
She created words that I seldom felt
She sways her thready hair as I knelt
As this lady gently cleans the kettles
I listened to her rush, the whistle, and her lips
Like the leaves flutters over a gentle wind
On the shadow of a butterfly over the lilies
A sun inside a drizzly morning and evening glory
Like a cuckoo singing from an early winter tree
A dream passed me by unknown to her
A desirable woman, a lover, a passionate peer
A moment of clarity, a blink, a wish to be there
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC