Mad experiments and burnt eyebrows in the arena of literature
Friday, August 26, 2011
Whither This Way or That
The feet whisper this way or that, but only the bees know the way, and only the birds are smart enough not to care. The prison is pretty and green and full of flowers, but the thorns are like cruel shepherds at the end of the day; home, home to the fences, dear feet. Tomorrow you can dream of wide green fields...