
[Photo credit:tjgiordano]
I have an appalling memory. Birthdays, anniversaries, appointments, I've forgotten them all. The only poem I've ever been able to commit to memory (the only one that's fit to print, at any rate) is this one by William Blake. It's beautiful, haunting, a little too chilling for a candlelit dinner, but entirely appropriate for today's February 14th posting:
The Sick Rose
O Rose, thou art sick!
The Invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of Crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
This Valentines, stay off the roses.
Not only are they pumped full of some of the nastiest agricultural chemicals, the people who grow and pick them likely have a fairly raw deal. ... read more »
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Posted on 14 February, 2007 - 05:15