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Thursday, January 12, 2006

A Vagabond Song

THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.
Bliss Carman


Blogger Cocaine Jesus said...

great picture but what on earth is wrong with that cat?

Friday, 13 January, 2006  
Blogger Mother Damnable said...

I think she's being a Banshee

Friday, 13 January, 2006  
Blogger Mother Damnable said...

...or maybe cyclops is that an eye in his chin?

Friday, 13 January, 2006  

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