Often trees are conductors of the absolute, the sidereal cuss
eternity. the blow escapes the rehab and into the fire as known
but
lost coupons short of your toaster of existence. the mind needs consciousness,
consciousness does not need mind. Bon Voyage.. when the body revolts within itself, and parts battle
parts,
it's the last revolution, the last pogo, follow the few that
have wisdom, don't let it deceive with knowledge, the brass ring of annihilation, you'll be recognized by a chip, and maybe it will be all that's left..

Friday, October 31, 2014

W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)

 
 

    • The Rose Tree

    By William Butler Yeats 1865–1939
    'O words are lightly spoken,'
    Said Pearse to Connolly,
    'Maybe a breath of politic words
    Has withered our Rose Tree;
    Or maybe but a wind that blows
    Across the bitter sea.'

    'It needs to be but watered,'
    James Connolly replied,
    'To make the green come out again
    And spread on every side,
    And shake the blossom from the bud
    To be the garden's pride.'

    'But where can we draw water,'
    Said Pearse to Connolly,
    'When all the wells are parched away?
    O plain as plain can be
    There's nothing but our own red blood
    Can make a right Rose Tree.'
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