"There must be some way out of here...So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."
- Bob Dylan
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
TLG "Could we with ink the ocean fill, And were the skies of parchment made, Were every stalk on earth a quill, And every man a scribe by trade, To write the love of God above, Would drain the ocean dry. Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Though stretched from sky to sky."
1 Comments:
Outstanding piece!
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