Classic poem of the day
To this the Boule-bearer
Doe you heare my friends? to whom did you sing all this now?
pardon me onely that I aske you, for I doe not looke for an-
swere; Ile answer my selfe, I know it is now such a time as the
Saturnalls for all the World, that every man stands under the eaves
of his own hat, and sings what please him; that's the right, and
the liberty of it. Now you sing of god Comus here the bellie-god;
I say it is well......
Member poem of the day
Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell even at this juncture in my life.
Even when spiked brambles
scrape my eyelids or those tender foot soles are being twisted by tooth-like stones. Quaint and angular they cluster mischievously among
green shoots that litter every footpath.
They lie in wait, in ambush for the absent-minded unsuspecting venturer.
It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman of the road.
The labyrinthin...
