For everything seemed resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,
Who were accustomed, as a sort of god,
To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,
Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad
(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,)
With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt
How power could condescend to do without.

*** George Gordon Noel Byron

Oh, I was born with the name Geraldine
With hair coal black as a raven.
I travelled my life without a care,
Ah, but all my love I was savin'.
Oh, the winds blew high and the trees did sway,
Not much from life was I askin'.
Till I met someone to give all my love,
All my love, so long an' lasting.
Oh, good were the parts we played in our game
And a long ways off was tomorrow.
But my love was a rambler and restless as the sea,
And in the tide came sorrow.
Oh, a child of the night is goin' to be born,
I can't explain my confusion.
Is my love thinkin' to marry me at all
Or of the freedom he thinks he'll be losin'?
I sit with my friends in the gay crowded room,
My friends they're smokin' and a-talkin'.
But it all seems so empty, my love is not there,
So I'll go into the streets a-walkin'.
My baby is a-growin' as a-growin' it must,
If I were to lose it, it would grieve me.
My love is so helpless and I'm wonderin' what to do.
Oh, how I yearn to help him.
Oh, we could go to the land of your choice
Where the false shame won't come knockin' at our door.
I've a feeling in my heart and it's crushing all my hopes,
I think I'm gonna be hurt some more,
Oh, I was born with the name Geraldine,
With hair coal black as a raven.
I travelled my life without a care,
Ah, but all my love I was savin'.

*** Donovan

no but amazingly all former convos with you
- regardless of about swiss history or about
austrian aristocracy - turned to elaborations
about italian perverts ... I sense a fixation. :-)

yeah it's quite perverted - I knew you would like it.

you sound like an insider. :-))

I agree with Stardust ...

only objection of mine would be, the rhythm is
a bit too simple for a long poem. that's a personal
taste and makes me perceive it as prose as well. :-)

From an old Birchtree
The Elven's Flute lit by moon
Spreads a sparkling tune.

hello saxophoneplayer. :-)
reliable vibrations - busk'em Melan. :-b

I would watch it kanga ...
references are necessary - either positive or negative.

indeed I meant to be pointing at the dramaturgy. ;-)

but extremely poor written.

needs Briah. Else there will be no Yetzirah Equipoise to Assiah.

but regarding chainmails there are days you just have bad luck.

I know but not only I love to see it confirmed. :D

Es ist ein Schnitter, der heißt Tod,
Hat Gewalt vom höchsten Gott,
Heut wetzt er das Messer,
Es schneid't schon viel besser,
Bald wird er drein schneiden,
Wir müssen nur leiden.
Hüte dich schöns Blümelein!

Was heut noch grün und frisch da steht,
Wird morgen schon hinweggemäht:
Die edlen Narzissen,
Die Zierden der Wiesen,
Viel schön' Hyazinthen,
Die türkischen Binden.
Hüte dich schöns Blümelein!

Viel hundert tausend ungezählt,
Das nur unter die Sichel fällt,
Ihr Rosen, ihr Lilien,
Euch wird er austilgen,
Auch die Kaiser-Kronen,
Wird er nicht verschonen.
Hüte dich schöns Blümelein!]3

Das himmelfarbe Ehrenpreiß,
Die Tulpanen gelb und weiß,
Die silbernen Glocken,
Die goldenen Flocken,
Senkt alles zur Erden,
Was wird daraus werden?
Hüte dich schöns Blümelein!

Ihr hübsch Lavendel, Roßmarein,
Ihr vielfärbige Röselein.
Ihr stolze Schwertlilien,
Ihr krause Basilien,
Ihr zarte Violen,
Man wird euch bald holen.
Hüte dich schöns Blümelein!

Trotz! Tod, komm her, ich fürcht dich nicht,
Trotz, eil daher in einem Schritt.
Werd ich nur verletzet,
So werd ich versetzet
In den himmlischen Garten,
Auf den alle wir warten.
Freu' dich, schönes Blümelein.

Is it in the picture or in the view?

Night falls light spoken
Candles on mountains folding
Grid for stardust set

~*~ XI 2003 ~*~