Rain rain rain...

It's been raining blue murder, lately. Thought I'd put in a poem. It's by Dorothy Parker, one of my favorites...

Rainy Night


Ghosts of all my lovely sins,
Who attend too well my pillow,
Gay the wanton rain begins;
Hide the limp and tearful willow.

Turn aside your eyes and ears,
Trail away your robes of sorrow,
You shall have my further years-
You shall walk with me tomorrow.

I am sister to the rain;
Fey and sudden and unholy,
Petulant at the windowpane,
Quickly lost, remembered slowly.

I have lived with shades, a shade;
I am hung with graveyard flowers.
Let me be tonight arrayed
In the silver of the showers.

Every fragile thing shall rust;
When another April passes
I may be a furry dust,
Sifting through the brittle grasses.

All sweet sins shall be forgot;
Who will live to tell their siring?
Hear me now, nor let me rot
Wistful still, and still aspiring.

Ghosts of dear temptations, heed;
I am frail, be you forgiving.
See you not that I have need
To be living with the living?

Sail, tonight, the Styx's breast;
Glide among the dim processions
Of the exquisite unblest,
Spirits of my shared transgressions,

Roam with young Persephone.
Plucking poppies for your slumber . . .
With the morrow, there shall be
One more wraith among your number.

Something to mull over...

Horoscope this week:

It's time for your coming out party, Pisces. Please schedule this tenderly shocking passage for sometime in the next three weeks: your emergence from the shadows, your escape from the past, your repudiation of volunteer slavery, your graduation from the amateur ranks, or your liberation from a persona that doesn't suit you any more. Do it with a sly and artful ritual of transgression or do it with an exuberant burst of joyful release, but do it. The future is calling you too loudly to resist any longer.