January 10, 2010
Composed on a sleepless night torn between thoughts of the American Surge in Afghanistan, Eigendecomposition, the new Indian missile submarine, and recurrent themes for introspection.
Were it naught but hate I had sown
alas there is nothing left to do
but to replant the harvest
and pray it never rains
Were it naught but hate I had sown
alas there is nothing left to do
but to replant the harvest
and pray it never rains
No comments:
Post a Comment