(Picture Courtesy: Another soul in quest of purity)
In dreams I saw,
These hands which turn...
The wheel and urn...
Of bliss and awe.
This urn sans flaw,
Where fate doth churn,
In colors auburn-
Which marvels draw...
Lest I forget-
In an act of gaud..
The provenance and cod-
Which thy will beset...
Aye! its the clay, the pod...
Thy means- and hands of God...
Babble:
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I've been having bouts of self consciousness about my babble. Consider yourself warned. Select the following space to actually see what you've been warned against.
Generally I'm too conceited to even care about explaining the lines... :-| but I'd really like to draw attention (in case you haven't noticed yet) to the churn, auburn rhyme...
Auburn is light brown a la clay or at least as an approximation to it... Finding a rhyme that suits the theme in its entirety can often be a daunting task... but if found... it can be a source of great exhilaration.... la la la la ... ♫ ♫ ♫ ♫
Someday... (yes someday) I'll decide to drift away from the Petrarchan meter... but not just yet! *sigh*
Uh... and the pic is copyrighted to one of my friends...so no right clicks please.
