It's busy. So very very busy...and I don't have time to write much. So I do it with that blasted magnetic poetry.
he summers here in whispered springtime worship behind a forest misted like the wind --asks: when will these delirious purple moments recall the smooth and languid sleep of sin? and singing sweet of luscious places shadowed, of dreaming under sordid bitter moons; bare petall'd power floods the diamond winter and death is yet a beauty-- all too soon. NsB 02-09-02 "dandelion"