Here he is, Miss America!
By golly he did some shouting last night though. It's still ringing around my head.
I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral
Comments
Now, why do we like blogging? Why do we like to blog and also read other people's blog? Since your blog is so famous, perhaps you can now do a statistical study about these questions.
Now, you are putting up some lovely pictures of Henry - streaking around naked or sitting on toilet seats. I don't know what he is going to do to you when he grows up :-).
Who needs to sleep anyhow?
I blog as a hobby, as I need an outlet for my creative juices.
Signed,
Granny