We seek our playmates
Waking them up from all corners before it is morning.
We call them in bird-songs,
Beckon them in nodding branches.
We Spread our spell for them in the splendour of clouds,
We laugh at solemn death
'Til he joins in our laughter,
We tear open time's purse,
Taking back his plunder from him,
We shall lose your heart to us, O winter,
It will gleam in the trembling leaves
And break into flowers.
Rabindranath Tagore - Song of the Heralds of Spring
...Va. Tech 16th April 2007...
Sometimes; real words simply do not work - Bao Chi
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