Come the PhysicianA surgeon serves not the wholesome The frail constitution requires a physician. And he would come 'The mere despair of surgery he cures' No hurting wound so small No common malady so minute as to be beneath his notice. And be it so with the great green feilds of home. Our land is faint- 'With and untitled tyrant bloody sceptered'- Faint from the bleed. Tired, worn and weary under the whip of the oppressorCome the Physician
Apollo falls, dragging behind him an inch or more of our morale
Fallen with and wit
The Way of ThingsTHE WAY OF THINGSThe Way of Things
Late summer is the birth of fall. Aging, lone giants standing tall Fight against the changing season. The dry, dead grass spread over all
blindly follows does not reason.
The fashion is Fall, Gold is vogue. The trees stay green as they go rogue.
No sleep for them, no not quite yet. Protesting loud as though they spoke, their minds made up, their roots are set.
Like a Woman dressed like a child, Holding to youth and looking wild- A faded, jaded shade of green-
And this is just the way of things... The trees
Devious Journal Entry
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