Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning?s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft star-shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die. -- Mary Elizabeth Frye (via Arthur Dent-Ur)

A cold rain starting And no hat -- So? -- A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife

Don?t worry, spiders, I keep house casually. -- New Year?s Day? everything is in blossom! I feel about average. -- In this world we walk on the roof of hell, gazing at flowers. -- Translated by Robert Hass.

There was a time, before you Glitches came When through these lands some other feet did tread I knew them by the noise before the name Their voices cut all earholes into shreds. Those were, I think, the supplicants of Pot Whose bawdy songs in keys too high to hear Would cause the rocks themselves to blush a lot. (Though rocks themselves say things that shame your ears). Some swore eternal loyalty to Lem And wore the Lemmish stripes upon their leg. They boasted of the ground covered by them. How far they?d hoofed o?er land and sea and weg. That?s not the point. The fact is, before you Were here, lived lives, and left their own mark, too.

When came the Glitch to walk upon this land? What Lemmish map did lead them to this place? This ground was shaped by naught but Giant?s hand Each feature caused a smile upon Giants? face. Age upon age, this land stood, icy still The only sound the flap of butt?ry wings And yet, of late - an influx: sudden fill Of Glitchlife and the chaos that it brings. Who knows what tree they might plant somewhere next? Who knows how long that tree might get to live? Our firstly instinct was to get quite vexed. But life with giants has taught us to forgive. Whichever way the Glitchy whims might bend The world will find its balance in the end.