A writer must “know and have an ever-present consciousness that this world is a world of fools and rogues… tormented with envy, consumed with vanity; selfish, false, cruel, cursed with illusions… He should free himself of all doctrines, theories, etiquettes, politics…” —Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914?). “The nobility of the writer's occupation lies in resisting oppression, thus in accepting isolation” —Albert Camus (1913-1960). “What are you gonna do” —Bertha Brown (1895-1987).
My young love said to me My mother won't mind, And my father won't slight you For your lack of kind. And she stepped away from me And this she did say, "It will not be long love Till our wedding day."
She stepped away from me And she moved through the fair, And slowly I watched her move here And move there. She went her way slowly With one star awake, As the swan in the evening Moved over the lake.
I dreamed last night that My young love came in. So softly she entered, That her feet made no din. She came close beside me And this she did say, "It will not be long love Till our wedding day"...
My young love said to me
ReplyDeleteMy mother won't mind,
And my father won't slight you
For your lack of kind.
And she stepped away from me
And this she did say,
"It will not be long love
Till our wedding day."
She stepped away from me
And she moved through the fair,
And slowly I watched her move here
And move there.
She went her way slowly
With one star awake,
As the swan in the evening
Moved over the lake.
I dreamed last night that
My young love came in.
So softly she entered,
That her feet made no din.
She came close beside me
And this she did say,
"It will not be long love
Till our wedding day"...