IKN

full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing

On the road

Your humble scribe will be doing visiting things this week, so posting will be light. Anyway, you’re better off reading a bit of Larkin rather than this guff and nonsense:

Days
What are days for?
Days are where we live.   
They come, they wake us   
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:   
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor   
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

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