My child, my sister, dream,
How sweet all things would seem,
Were we in that kind land to live together, And there love slow and long, There love and die among, Those scenes that image you, That sumptuous weather, Drowned suns that glimmer there, through cloud-dishevelled air, Move me with such a mystery as appears, Within those other skies, Of your treacherous eyes, When I behold them shining through their tears...baudelaire
Jan 3, 2013
May day 2011
The days are a blur. The garden is blooming. The chickens are producing.
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