A Race of Men

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.

Original: Robert Service with special effects by John ¨El Alaskaaaano¨

creeping crescent

It was the final hour from day to night. The sun falling over the ocean and its melting garden of roses flooding the sky. The leaves rang softly as whispering bells of the forest, spilling secrets to only the most attuned of ears. The trunk with its far reaching branches and its deeply filled flute singing those ancient melodies that ring and rise from the center of the earth. And that forest floor, onto to which all these secrets fall, soaking secrets for ages. There lay a girl there on that forest floor, there in this very atmosphere. Her eyes falling to sleep, her dreams acutely attuned to these magical happenings. In this final moment of light, her dreaming body then rose from that very real solid sleeping body of hers. She saw it sleeping there with her own still dreaming eyes. She felt herself as light as those gently singing leaves and the soft sleeping sea. She rose there for only a minute or two, her body silent and simple, still and listening. As that last ray of light sung out from that sinking bleeding sun, she too fell back into that sleeping solid body of hers. Her eyes open and awake to those solid still bodies of the forest and the creeping crescent of the night moon.