As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t'other say, "Where sall we gang and dine today?"
"In behint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
"His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pike out his bonny blue een; Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
"Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sall ken where he is gane; O'er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair."
(Twa Corbies... an old scottish rhyme)
+[And now, if you've made it that far, I've felt belatedly that I ought to include some real information about this journal. It is a writing journal. You're not likely to find any information about life, witty quizzes, or universe related information here... It's a place I've reserved for my poetry and fiction, which may or may not be of quality consistently.
I am, however, in the game for constructive critique. So, if you feel you can offer that, be my guest.
I am also user 'incommune' on livejournal. That is my 'journal' journal.]+