On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground, blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call. On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears, a soldier cleans and polishes a gun. War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Scenes from a Morning Commute
Red morning, sailors warning. And now, it's snowing to beat the band. Those darn sailors.