From: Twittering One on
"The Song of Shadows

Sweep thy faint Strings, Musician,
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.

Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more."
~ Walter de la Mare

From: Twittering One on
Click ~ !

~ * The Animal Rescue
Site ~ Click the purple button
To feed an animal in need, every click gives a bowl ...

http://www.theanimalrescuesite.com

~ * ~

From: Twittering One on
"... He'll pace allright but then look carefully

at how, reaching the edge, he turns around...

.... that quick step

revolving on the one hind leg, bringing the other down just as
the swivel ends, then giving over all the weight

to one front paw, onto each pad distinctly it would

seem, then onto number four and he's
around headed the other way

again."
~ Jorie Graham,
"The Sense of an Ending,"
"Erosion"

From: Twittering One on
"Out of the hills of Habersham,
Down the valleys of Hall,
I hurry amain to reach the plain,
Run the rapid and leap the fall,
Split at the rock and together again,
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,
And flee from folly on every side
With a lover's pain to attain the plain
Far from the hills of Habersham,
Far from the valleys of Hall."
~ Sidney Lanier,
"Song of the Chattahoochee"

From: Double-A on
On Feb 11, 7:07 pm, "Twittering One" <mournenwo...(a)aol.com> wrote:
> "Out of the hills of Habersham,
> Down the valleys of Hall,
> I hurry amain to reach the plain,
> Run the rapid and leap the fall,
> Split at the rock and together again,
> Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,
> And flee from folly on every side
> With a lover's pain to attain the plain
> Far from the hills of Habersham,
> Far from the valleys of Hall."
> ~ Sidney Lanier,
> "Song of the Chattahoochee"


"All down the hills of Habersham,
All through the valleys of Hall,
The rushes cried Abide, abide,
The wilful waterweeds held me thrall,
The laving laurel turned my tide,
The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay,
The dewberry dipped for to work delay,
And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide,
Here in the hills of Habersham,
Here in the valleys of Hall."

op. sit.