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Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest . . .
Sasha Blaze
Picpoemspam behind the beautiful ronin.

The Owl

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

Edward Thomas (written February 1915, published 1917)

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And one more, to say that I got very, very lucky: his soulpatch is really faint and undefined, more of a shadow than actual paint. I was afraid I'd have to do surgery on his faceup right away, but Volks must have read my mind or something.

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