( via / me )

"I think about that sometimes. How something can be over and still be on its way."

      "Low Tide

The birds are gathering over the dunes,
   Swerving and wheeling in shifting flight,
A thousand wings sweep darkly by
   Over the dunes and out of sight.

Why did you bring me down to the sea
   With the gathering birds and the fish-hawk flying,
The tide is low and the wind is hard,
   Nothing is left but the old year dying.

I wish I were one of the gathering birds,
   Two sharp black wings would be good for me —
When nothing is left but the old year dying,
   Why did you bring me down to the sea?"

—Sara Teasdale via @sallythomas

Waste Land Limericks.

“Of the welkin king, O irked imp!” —Sid Basu via

Staircase.