“Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.”
― Oscar Wilde
What a contrast from the earlier post is what methinks... but such is the fluttering of the wings called a mind.
This is the garb I wear today, will wear another morrow, who knows, it may be a star spangled banner embroidered with skeins of rich emotion or maybe a drab garment threadbare and coarse...
........... and God Bless PMS.... ;)
