Phoenix Bound
Flying over beautiful New Mexico (God’s Country), on the way to a much, much, very extremely overdue vacation. . . And I’m officiating my Dad’s wedding.
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Somebody’s Home
Just can’t come to the door right now At the gate, but missed the gun I can't start, but I'm not done Fortune never smiled at me It left me on my own Someone cracked the hour glass Shattered time and scattered past Set in stone, you can't un-cast The die once thrown And I'm in here with the blinds all drawn I can hear you but I can't respond Though the lights are on, just don't give up 'cause somebody's home Somebody's home Your eyes betray your sympathy But your eyes can't see inside of me Maybe there's nothing to see I guess we'll never know And I'm in here with the blinds all drawn I can hear you but I can't respond Though the lights are on, just don't give up 'cause somebody's home Somebody's home All the things I never said All still here inside my head All the plans you had for me All that will never be Oh, but don't give up on me I see more than you think I see Can anyone hear me, oh? And I'm in her...
“Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworth (1770–1850)
I HEARD a thousand blended notes While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What Man has made of Man. Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trail’d its wreaths; And ’tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopp’d and play’d, Their thoughts I cannot measure,— But the least motion which they made It seem’d a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature’s holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What Man has made of Man?