rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


I really must cut back on the correcting of errors and adding of details to various and sundry web sites. It keeps me up way too late, and vastly reduces the amount of time I have for writing here. I wish I weren't so irritable about errors and omissions.

The sun is up again (why does it insist on doing that before I'm ready for it?) At least the house no longer smells of cat pee. I think I must have picked it up on my pant leg when I leaned against the brick wall next to the porch. Stupid stray tom cats.

Sunday Verse

(For my dead cherry tree)

Loveliest of Trees

by A.E. Houseman

Loveliest of trees the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now of my three score years and ten,
twenty will not come again.
And take from seventy years a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom,
Fifty Springs is little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

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