Gone now the thrush, her night song to rest
And on her rowan post, the sparrow
In renewed behest,
Summons her sire the sun from his chamber,
A tawny young daughter, a father of amber.
But his eyes open not for the quarrelsome youngling,
Yet to rise is he, monarch of the day,
While the fox and ermine their last rounds make,
For short the hart their post as guard shall take.
And as filmy night's dissolving pall is cast,
The sun's own fanfare, Aurora Vera at last!
I sing in a voice weakened by shouting, A voice weakened by hunger, By tears, By sickness; Hear my song; I shall sing in spite of these. I dance with feet wounded by asperity, Feet blistered by marching, By wandering, By hard...
I once rode with someone I knew to a function. That is, by someone I knew, I mean someone I had never met once in my life, and by "function," my meaning is inconsequential to the story and the reader need know nothing more about it. I sat across from...
_ **Friday** _ "Nnngh! Almost... there!" Pepper grunted as he strained to bend the stiff carbon-fiber tent pole just enough to fit into the small ring at the base of the tent. The end of the pole finally met with the brass...