My Love, he doth lie sleeping now,
Nor you, Nor I shall wake him,
And shall I, crying, kiss his brow,
By Moonlight cold and grim,
And shall I softly leave his door,
To pace the night, so full of awe,
And loose the beast within once more,
While hope and faith grow pale and dim.
My Love, he sleeps and stirreth not,
Though I should weep and moan,
And his fair words I have forgot',
I walk the night alone,
And when once more I shall return,
Before the dawn my soul should burn,
Will he still, in silence spurn,
This weary, withered crone.
KF
One day, shortly after New Years, a sheep went wandering away from the rest of the flock who were watching television. He wanted to get some really different photos of the valley. The curve of the ground was gentle, and the sheep had to walk a full half hour before his companions were out of sight. This was the furtherest away any of the flock had travelled, even during the long summer holidays. The sheep began to feel rather excited, and started singing to himself.
A crow flew by and warned the sheep of the great dangers he faced in travelling alone.
`Only last week,' the crow said, `two echidnas who were taking their stamp collections to be weighed were beaten up and robbed just over the hill from here. If I were you I'd get back to your friends.'
`I'm thankful to say that you are not me.' replied the sheep haughtily, and walked on towards a clump of trees silhouetted against the setting sun. He had only two pictures left on his film. He considered a shot through leaves and branches, looking back over the whole valley.
Another crow flew by and immediately began to ridicule the sheep. `You pathetic little individualist,' he sneered, placing particular and unpleasant emphasis on the last word. `Even if I really take my time it takes me only a few minutes to reach your friends, not one of whom, I might point out, has even noticed your absence.'
`Oh' said the sheep.
The crow flew on whistling `Rebel Rebel' and laughing. The sheep hesitated. His enjoyment of the new countryside and the solitude, even the excitement he felt, was suddenly replaced by uneasyness. `I really shouldn't have left without my cassette player.' He turned and began to hurry. It would be dark before he got back. `What night is it - Tuesday, curried grass and bean shoots - I hope I haven't missed it.'
When he got back, everyone was watching television. All the others thought he'd just been to the paper shop. For some reason none of the photos turned out.
When anger is the only emotion
to stir your mortal soul
And the only pain you truly feel
is a dull aching in your head
How do you know you live?
By the press of a blunt fingernail's edge
On the pliant skin of your thumb
The sound of a clock ticking on into the night
The monotony of breath
What do these things mean?
How can the sound of someone turning in their bed
Or the sight of an empty mirror
fill me with such a cold dread
Can walls and sounds and thoughts
Make such an effective prison
Why is my thought so clouded
I grow old before my time
And these cold tears that mysteriously appear
Surely they are not mine
KF
A site to remember: Evil Bert!!
-KF
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