Degrees like minutes
momentarily we see
gathering thin air.
Painting by John Constable, 'Study of a cloud sky', c. 1825, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
It is only with calloused hands that the heavy body can claw and leverage the self upward on the thorny vine of a life without wince and whi...
No comments:
Post a Comment