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...
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But by the look of it, even Henry seems to be indecisive about whether he likes the situation that he is in or not.
Hmmm, as the Bard said: To be (happy) or not to be (happy)....
The most utilised footwear in my boys' wardrobes as youngsters. The saviour of their mother! So easy to put on and take off...and so easy to clean after a long day in mud and puddles (sometimes the puddles actually did the cleaning!!)
I can jump in puddles: Henry McCracken.
But we don't get much rain and no snow at all here in our part of India, so what to do?
Where's the combination??
The only time I wore these things, I couldn't walk five steps without holding on to someone or something :-( That was the time I took a pledge never to wear these treacherous things again.
Tasmanian supermodels wear them.