This must be divine retribution for me playing the drums in high school. (Although I wasn't one of those drummers who pounded with my drumsticks on chairs, walls, tables, people, and other household items, like some people I could name.)
Children's voices in the orchard
Between the blossom- and the fruit-time:
Golden head, crimson head,
Between the green tip and the root.
Black wing, brown wing, hover over;
Twenty years and the spring is over;
To-day grieves, to-morrow grieves,
Cover me over, light-in-leaves;
Golden head, black wing,
Cling, swing,
Spring, sing,
Swing up into the apple-tree.
--T.S. Eliot
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Funny how they get all these grand noisy ideas very early in the morning....Malachi is a darling.
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