« Reply #55 on: May 13, 2014, 04:09:11 PM »
« Last Edit: May 13, 2014, 04:13:04 PM by pallas »
Logged
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.
William Blake, The Sick Rose