What ancient tower sits
Under the patch of blue...
Exposed by tearing clouds
To give a boundless view.
Well, however ancient
And however stately,
I view it with less awe,
Or even quite sedately.
For it's a babe below
The ever-spreading sky;
Its edges - broad and tall -
Exaggerate -- They lie!
Some say they miss days of wonder,
But I think I see their blunder.
Those thrilling days, they never left;
It's something of one's soul, bereft.
That fatal flaw of lacking awe
Is from not seeing, cause you saw.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
overgrown: ruins
hidden from the side are
revealed from above.
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
Countless pieces of hate
Tumble through our days,
Clogging up our Flow --
Tiny bites of thought
Pit us against
Imagined adversaries...
But aren't all adversaries
Imagined adversaries?
Those who act badly against us
Are only adversaries
If we slide them into that
Mental basket.
did ancient occupants
look upon new walls and gates,
or cloud reflections?
From the water's edge,
I see the spastic, choppy
topography of a river
that looked glassy
from the bridge that
spans it.
Is this one river?
Am I one traveler?
From atop an old stone rampart, one's head within the clouds, one expects to see an old oxcart through that foggy shroud. But down below, the modern day: buses, cafes, and cars. I turn my head the other way, and the world 's as it was: Back in the times when that fortress was besieged and battered, and nothing moved freely but for a flag -- singed and tattered. There's a certain romantic view of long-gone days of old, but I think I'll be heading down before I catch a cold.
the river's surface, glassy from above, looks choppy from the edge.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 