Flowers—Lines—Ice

Archive for July, 2015

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I never take pictures of the sky

Sky


The Fly

The Fly

 

The Fly

Little Fly
Thy summer’s play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush’d away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength & breath;
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

William BlakeSongs of Experience

 

 


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PTDF


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Convergence

F_B&W


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DF2

WY1