Sunday, August 16, 2009

Poem o' the Week

Night, and the wisdom of eternal loss,
and down the straight road, far as I can spy,
a form goes plodding, and that form is I,
a fated stone that cannot gather moss.

But faintly through the darkness he hears come
the echo of another's feet, and squares
his shoulders neath the burden that he bears,
steps out - and empty is the dark and dumb.
- Charles Williams

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