> Here in these Northern Latitudes the weather is just as odd, spring-like
> much of the time, with blackbirds still seen singing and dying flies
> a-buzzing, while other days, like today, it turns into a cinema cliché of
> Victorian England, the fog is a-swirling and I swear I earlier saw both
> Nostradamus proclaiming It Is A Sign and Holmes and Watson climbing into a
> cab.
>
> ooh arr, these be profound things (wink)
Dave,
Cor blimey, and what of Bleak House? Speaking of profound things and flies and
dying (as opposed to dying flies), I was reminded that yesterday (10th) was the
birth date of the poet of Amherst.
465
I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm
The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -
I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -
With Blue - uncertain stumbling Buzz -
Between the light - and me -
And then the Windows failed - and then
I could not see to see -
Best from Shallow Sydney,
Jill
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