though some have callèd thee
nancy died around 8:30 tonight.
clay, jo and i did everything we planned to do today. good times were had.
at the session, we sang The Parting Glass in nancy's honor.
you'll always be loved, nance. just as much as you loved us, we loved you, and we still do. forever.
on the other side, our neighbor has a friend who needs to get rid of a single -- that is to say, a boat -- by friday. we'll take it off his hands for $300. (this is less than a tenth of the price of a cheap shell new or used.)
DEATH, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
john donne.
clay, jo and i did everything we planned to do today. good times were had.
at the session, we sang The Parting Glass in nancy's honor.
you'll always be loved, nance. just as much as you loved us, we loved you, and we still do. forever.
on the other side, our neighbor has a friend who needs to get rid of a single -- that is to say, a boat -- by friday. we'll take it off his hands for $300. (this is less than a tenth of the price of a cheap shell new or used.)
DEATH, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
john donne.