RE: The Rat's thread (updates from The Rat)
01-17-2017, 04:55 AM
Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
What is the thing I miss? I went walking yesterday, or was it the day before? I walked among the scraggly woods by the river, and I wanted a ragged Bohemian band, sorrowful accordion and fiddle, to express the mood of that place. To be a strange river sweeping me away.
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
What is the thing I miss? I went walking yesterday, or was it the day before? I walked among the scraggly woods by the river, and I wanted a ragged Bohemian band, sorrowful accordion and fiddle, to express the mood of that place. To be a strange river sweeping me away.