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Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
“Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde”
Beware of the anger of a patient man.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.
Just left it there by the woodshed?
After the noise and the smell, what was the coffee for?
Now that sounds like a start of a fun day.
I thought shooting skunks and taking care of the chooks WAS your work?
Not bad work if you can get it (IMHO).
I’m trying to imagine going to work wearing the aromas of coffee, gunpowder, and skunk. They might give me the rest of the day off. You still have that skunk?
The trick is to shoot the skunks from a distance, folks. With luck, by the time you get home the buzzards (or other scavengers) have mostly taken care of it. If the scavengers become a problem, you have to shoot them too, but that’s part of the game if you’re fortunate or smart enough to live outside city limits. I’ve lost count of how many raccoons I’ve had to shoot; they like chicken almost as much as I do, & they don’t wait around for it to be fried.