Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves An echo of a distant time comes willowing across the sand And everything is green and submarine.
And no one called us to the land And no one knows the where's or why's Something stirs and something tries Starts to climb toward the light.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity
A little early, but because blogging at work is verboten (at least for the moment), happy 200th birthday Edgar Allen Poe (January 19, 1809)