I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
And e’en the dearest–that I loved the best–
Are strange–nay, rather stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil’d or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below–above the vaulted sky.
I love how this device picture is probaby a computer image…like it’s space age shit versus what it really is…a pink pisspot. Awesome…what I want to know is, are you supposed to carry this fuckery around in your purse? So your lipstick, checkbook and other items will have the faint smell of your piss all over them?
First and foremost…I’m a Christmas girl. I love the shit out of Christmas. In fact I’ll be posting some pictures of Christmas from the two places that I spend the majority of my time lately, my uncle’s house and my mom’s house…but getting back to the topic at hand.
I love and celebrate Christmas…but around these parts we also celebrate Kwanzaa.
Now for a lot of people out there, Kwanzaa is a separatist non-holiday that some wacky black leader pulled out of ass one day on a whim.
