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Hey Danny!

I've been reading this book and it's got me thinking. Things like:
how small is infinity? how vast is small?

she wields her wings about her.
Surging forward and up for flight.
While beneath her, she feels
the finality of iced fingers;
desperately scratch their last,

Plain clothes, painted wings
claiming piety
whilst I take nightly
the last breath from vermillion lips.

A reprise to the cry;
the 'shick' of my knife
taking life, the Devil's device

Yesterday about this time Matt was carrying a bucket of grain for the sheep on dad’s ranch.

Is it moving? Or is it still?
Those are lies the ocean tells
Save your strength, you’ll need it for later

In the hateful waters lies a silhouette
Fighting against the sea of stone

Love and Duty
P K Routray
“Hey Son!” heart-rending is the cry of the father’s ghost,
“I tore your body for shake of my moral duty or it would have been the worst.

I know you want me to leave but
if I do that I’ll feel cheap so
I lean across
and press play
when I really want to say:

About someone I used to know.

After my meeting with Nigel I decided to return to the other Plough and Compasses. What sort of journalist was I, you might ask, if my day simply involved crawling from pub to pub?