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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.]+