And so this day, the Ides of March
Sit upon our souls
In the day by the eve of thy great St. Patrick
Wretched this day could be
Though pondered I sit thinking
Shat, a bird shall do on my weary shoulder
Star from the east there shall fly
Innocence granted to those due right
And I see greatness of future to come
Only poetry, my friends, fortune my inner peace.

03/15/2012

Posted on 03/15/2012
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