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 |   Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
That time of year  thou mayst in me beholdWhen yellow leaves  , or none, or few, do hangUpon those boughs  which shake against the cold,  Bare, ruined choirs where late the sweet birds  sang   Forgive me. I was just testing out what Shakespeare would look like with some ML thrown in. This is one of my favorite sonnets, Sonnet 73. I love how the words always create a picture in my mind , especially these first lines that describe the aging process in terms of seasons, putting the colors, the feeling and even the silent abandonment of the trees into his verse. Shakespeare didn’t have ML, he had to use words. But doesn’t it look pretty now? Here’s another good bit,from Hamlet. It's one heck of a play, let me tell you. Alas, poor  Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest…   You know, this is a lot of work. I think I will just stick to words. |
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