I took this picture last night as I walked two of the dogs downtown. As I pulled it up on my iPhone just now, at 3 am, I was reminded of a sonnet (#73) by William Shakespeare:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
No comments:
Post a Comment
All comments are moderated, and all zombies, trolls, time wasters, and anonymous cowards will be shot.
If you do not know what that means, click here and read the whole thing.
If you are commenting on a post, be sure to actually read the post.
New information, corrections, and well-researched arguments are always appreciated.
- The Management