And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
Here's how to navigate what should be a fun, hassle-free friends-with-benefits (FWB) experience.
There are, without a doubt, many pros to having a FWB living in close proximity: Your walk of shame is substantially less embarrassing, you don't have to worry about driving home after one too many glasses of wine, and usually you'll be able to tell if he's home. sightings of his empty parking space in your building's garage, you'll start to wonder how things got so complicated.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers, And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed. fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.