artistic printz

squabbles of an aspirin artist

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

squabble number 16


A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs,, A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, you're hurt exclaim-
emily dickinson Posted by Hello

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