♥ Buddies. ♥
Easter @ the Smiths, 2012.
Lilith woke me up three times in the middle of the night. She was singing to herself in her bedroom.
It was very, very sweet, but I’m a little worse for wear.
Night is my sister, and how deep in love,
How drowned in love and weedily washed ashore,
There to be fretted by the drag and shove
At the tide’s edge, I lie-these things and more:
Whose arm alone between me and the sand,
Whose voice alone, whose pitiful breath brought near,
Could thaw these nostrils and unlock this hand,
She could advise you, should you care to hear.
Small chance, however, in a storm so black,
A man will leave his friendly fire and snug
For a drowned woman’s sake, and bring her back
To drip and scatter shells upon the rug.
No one but Night, with tears on her dark face,
Watches beside me in this windy place.
Happy Easter from Lilith and Kayla.
Miniature of monks seated in a choir in a church during a funeral Mass, with five spectres of skeletal death behind them, from the Psalter of Henry VI, Paris, c. 1405-10
The Psalter of Henry VI is now online on the British Library’s Digitized Manuscripts site.
[ source ]
These links are mostly for my reference. Sustainable underpantzes!
