Mark de Roussier
2010-09-06 01:00:52 UTC
Ah so. This is probably the last time I will ever pass this way.
Tonight, I was just curious. I see it has become by far the less trodden
path - not that kiting was ever anything else :).
Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,
A hand that can be claspd no more
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.
He is not here; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.
Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam
Bye bye rec.kites,
Mark
Tonight, I was just curious. I see it has become by far the less trodden
path - not that kiting was ever anything else :).
Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,
A hand that can be claspd no more
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.
He is not here; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.
Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam
Bye bye rec.kites,
Mark