fredag, januar 12, 2007

On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare That I may one day rue.
I saw the danger, yet I walked.
Along the enchanted way.
And I said let grief be a falling leaf
At the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November,
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The world of passions pledge.
The Queen of Heart's still baking tarts And I not making hay,
Well I loved too much by such and such, Is happiness thrown away.

I gave her the gifts of the mind;
I gave her the secret sign
That's known to all the artists who have Known true Gods of Sound and Time.
With word and dint I did not stint
I gave her reams of poems to say

With her own dark hair and her own name there,
Like the clouds over fields of May.

On a quiet where old ghosts meet,
I see her walking now
Away from me, so hurriedly
My reason must allow.
For I have wooed not as I should,
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay he’ll lose His wings at the dawn of the day.

mandag, januar 01, 2007

Sms?


Vi hadde visst tid til hverandre allikevel.
It was just some Wicked Witch of the East out wandering those lands.