In the Place of A Long Post--I Give You Yeats

Merry Christmas to you.

New York is warm and wet for this Christmas. The rain is like warm tears from lovers that suddenly remembered, like late afternoon, pre Christmas eve drinks of lonely and lovely souls when hearts are touched, comics shared, and signs of love just become a possibility, if just an unawared intention, and Murakami is both a subject and a language.

Enjoy Yeats, in the original place of a long and self-absorbed update.

A Drinking Song

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and sigh.

To a Child Dancing in the Wind

Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water's roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool's triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?