|
0
registrerede
80
gæster og
1290
søgemaskiner online. |
|
Key:
Admin,
Global Mod,
Mod
|
|
|
Skribent: Simon
Emne: Re: Mellemrummet
|
Et morn’ til julegeneralen..
The Almanac of Time:
The almanac of time hangs in the brain;
The seasons numbered by the inward sun,
The winter years, move in the pit of man;
His graph is measured As the page of pain
Shifts to the redwombed pen.
The calendar of age hangs in the heart,
A lover’s thought tears down the dated sheet,
The inch of time’s protracted to a foot
By youth and age, the mortal state and thought
Ageing both day and night.
The word of time lies on the chaptered bone,
The seed of time is sheltered in the loin:
The grain of life must seethe beneath the sun,
The syllables be said and said again:
Time shall belong to man.
*
A winter’s Tale:
It is a winter’s tale
That the snow blind twilight ferries over the lakes
And floating fields from the farm in the cup of the vales,
Gliding windless through the hand folded flakes,
The pale breath of cattle at the stealthy sail,
And the stars falling cold,
And the smell of hay in the snow, and the far owl
Warning among the folds, and the frozen hold
Flocked with the sheep white smoke of the farm house cowl
In the river wended vales where the tale was told.
- Dylan Thomas.
mvh
Simon – “elfing” with a cuppa, feeling age…;)
P.s.: Forøvrigt ret nisseligt det med troen - the proof is in the pudding - sagde morgennissen..
De gamle morgennisser - du ved, Gunner Nu osv. - må da findes et sted på YT, sku' man mene? I såfald må de næsten ha deres naturlige mellemrumsplads i julemåneden. Go dag dér..;)
|
|
|
|
