by Liiga Smilshkalne

      "Autumn

There is a wind where the rose was;
Cold rain where sweet grass was;
   And clouds like sheep
   Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.

Nought gold where your hair was;
Nought warm where your hand was;
   But phantom, forlorn,
   Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.

Sad winds where your voice was;
Tears, tears where my heart was;
   And ever with me,
   Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was."

--Walter de la Mare


To extract the maximum suffering from setbacks: a sort of validation--in lieu of a Purple Heart.


"What is undoubtedly dying is the landscape of 20th century popular music."


Khaki Switzerland.


Japrocksampler.