A burning desire to capture and bottle the passing breeze; to articulate the unspoken; to describe the seasons of the coming waves; to dress the scents of the hidden encounters; to perpetuate the dying drama; and to warn of the approaching fury of the unknown. On this adventure, you are invited to share with me, my cup of tea.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Cold Wars
As the temperature heads south And the number of hapless victims climb north The office is abuzz with a whizzing and sneezing acappella For the cold wars are raging like a stormy gala