Thursday, December 10, 2020

A Miscellany of Pictures and Thoughts

Industry

I blind the sun on his throne at noon, nothing can tame me, nothing can bind, I am a child of the heartless wind- But oh the pines on the mountain's crest whispering always, "Rest, Rest". Sara Teasdale

The autumn is old; the sear leaves are flying; He has gather'd up gold, and now he is flying; Old age, begin sighing!  Thomas Hood     

 

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