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Daily Archives: March 7, 2014
.. It’s not a lot, this thing I’ve got. No plan, or plotting, just poems plodding across a page by tittled phrase. Not quite for naught, these thoughts now caught are whispered heart -songs freed from cage for whimpered, whistled, … Continue reading
The Sleeping Gypsy, 1897, by Henri Rousseau … Hakuna matata, my ebony foot. No lion sleeps here tonight, and I think perhaps I have played my last song to these whirling sands. Re -member me in bright stripes, … Continue reading