On the east I sate that day, up against a willow grey:
Toll slowly.
Through the rain of willow-branches I could see the low hill-ranges
And the river on its way.
Between the Lines.
Literature
The 2010 CIA World Factbook
The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
The Motor Girls
The Moorland Cottage
COPYRIGHT(©) 2022