In this decayed hole among the mountains In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home it has no windows, and the door swings dry bones can harm no one – T.S. Eliot The Waste Land and Other Poems
I’m not spooked by such an ominous note in the depths of winter, for I don’t shadow omens. I’m all about accordance with fellow beings even if you don’t bode well in unpromising times…keep moving you will arrive at a better place.
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