Houseman lives on in a bough. Boughs live in trees of the sky. The sky lives to hang in and hail from whence we will fare aye. We long for our trees to stand not move away to the electric sky or partake of its angry thunder to stand without leaf in bough.

Houseman ,we made a house but we lost our tree in bough, a balcony of hanging to a tree, for a view of the milkman below. Whenever we made our house we would lose our mountains. We would lose sun in its trees to the emptiest of sky whence we all fare.

( referring to A.E.Houseman’s beautiful poem Give me my land of boughs...)


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