« Sloth | Main | The issue is abstraction... »

Abril 22, 2006

untitled

Once, I knew a fine song,
-- It is true, believe me --
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
Heavens! They all flew away.
I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!"
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and the sky.

Stephen Crane

Posted by sarita at Abril 22, 2006 6:17 PM