Monday, September 24, 2007

How the children must sing of this day
Supping buttermilk in an innocent way
Dalliance whittles the gentle morning away
In dreams of custard fairies, I'm none too sure
Whether the weather will change.

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After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...