Saturday, September 09, 2006

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

Carl Sandburg

2 Comments:

Blogger virgochhas said...

wat fruit is dat...???

12:46 PM  
Blogger Sundancer said...

fruit in the pic
my dear's a fig
Held by a pig
Shot by a Nic!
hahahaha - Rupert Brooke overdose!

1:44 PM  

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