Wednesday, April 26, 2006

poem and some annoyances

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,
Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store
Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea,
How are they blotted from the things that be!
How few, all weak and withered of their force,
Wait on the verge of dark eternity,
Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse,
To sweep them from our sight. time rolls his ceaseless course.
-sir walter scott

I've been appalled by the buffoons we have running this
country. What happened to the idea that this country meant something,
and the the people governing this country should govern rather than
spend all their time on demogoguery and partisanship and bloviation?
What happened to getting stuff done?

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