READ--LOOK--WRITE! 09

READ

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; 
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink 
And rise and sink and rise and sink again; 
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, 
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; 
Yet many a man is making friends with death 
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone. 
It well may be that in a difficult hour, 
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, 
Or nagged by want past resolution's power, 
I might be driven to sell your love for peace, 
Or trade the memory of this night for food. 
It well may be. I do not think I would. 



---- Edna St. Vincent Millay




LOOK

A random selection this week of things that I think are oddities, or cool.  TheMilkstone.





WRITE!


Something has eaten this building, it's clear;
Little holes in the rooms that I still love.
Have become a monument of my fear;
Darkened hallways, dust, and the cooing dove.
But I still retain this place as my home;
Meadows and groves, hallowed pine trees, the sky;
Shown only to friends who long now do roam.
And known to the western light, by and by. 
In the many years that have passed us now
Windows fretted with boards, and vulgar cracks, 
It is hard for us to remember how
Those sweet yearning years used to break our backs.  
Oh pitter-patter, oh pitter-patter, 
Muscovy duck and a bottle of wine
Oh pitter-patter, my pitter-patter, 
Your heart still scampers on the roof with mine.