Accept tourism, it's a soiled tusk again
But it's economic, the mascot ally
We use to perceive, twist and tie the beach
To the forest. Or else you may sing in alto
The way taxis lie about negotiating
Their beams, waiting to ply
Their trade again.
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change.
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
-- Wm. Shakespeare, "Richard II"
This page was last modified on 2011 December 20. "Lottery000001" by John Sullivan is Copyright ©2003 - 2011, and licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.