#sec2

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

     Does it dry up      like a raisin in the sun?      Or fester like a sore—      And then run?      Does it stink like rotten meat?      Or crust and sugar over—      like a syrupy sweet?      Maybe it just sags      like a heavy load.      Or does it explode?

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

And then a black unrolling On roofs of attap tile, And after that a coloured rain - But only for a little while.

A bird among the rain-wet lilac sings - But we, how shall we turn to little things And listen to the birds and winds and streams Made holy by their dreams Nor feel the heart-break in the heart of things?

when I could venture a remark what separates us from the animals is how I could get to know you past the point when you’re no longer here

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Collect all six special collector covers! 150 years ago, Rutgers and Princeton, then known as the New Jersey College, played their first intercollegiate football game… http://www.nature-business.com/school-football-sec2-my-blog/ Blog, Football, school, SEC2 Blog, Football, school, SEC2 Collect all six special collector covers! 150 years ago, Rutgers and Princeton, then known as the New Jersey College, played their first intercollegiate football game and started an American tradition that all these years later has no equal. For millions of people across the country, college