mentaltimetraveller:

Sam Moyer, Grandma Blanche

(via golden-gal)

(Source: josephtran, via golden-gal)

Strangers

 

They walked without a word,

Together through the night,

Though neither felt the cold,

As usually they might.

 

A figure in the fog,

Drifted across their path,

A moment and a half,

Alas, the figure, gone.

 

For a feature or a manner,

This figure was unclear,

A stranger, so she thought,

But not someone to fear.

 

We all begin as strangers,

She turned and said to him,

Friends and lovers we become,

The right match, a small sum.

 

So be careful when you choose,

With whom you’d like to dance,

That smile you went weak for,

Will be yours and just by chance.

 

He turned to her and nodded,

His mouth he couldn’t move,

Uncertainty met confidence,

She had nothing to prove.

 

They walked without a word,

Together through the night,

Though neither felt the cold,

As usually they might.

Life is not long, and too much of it must not pass in idle deliberation how it shall be spent.

What is written without effort is in general read without pleasure.

Fixed. theme by Andrew McCarthy