Many journalists, and not many friends
Around the encumbered tomb
Around the brilliant panoply
Beneath the dreadful moon
Many shattered bulbs, and men
Attend sepulchral cues
And when sepulchral rings the wind
The scattered glass will move
The motorcade and all its kin
Away from nascent mound
Will glide along like rivers
Like the dew upon the ground
He moved across the forest They moved across the forest It moved across the forest moved across the forest elephantly. across the forest under the autumn star the azure trees the fruit of rippling way
that beauty shadows on the grass moon; hand; dance come alive, remember you, remembered reborn, we cannot sleep dreams have no answer but deep, close to the heart they say be seen, dream with one anot
The sun someday will be love again. The mountain someday will be sand. The land in the end will begin again, and flowers grow out of its hand. I remembered an ancient poem, held under the tongue of a