OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/The Blackfoot Eden

Layout 2
THE BLACKFOOT EDEN
NAPI, Old Man, creative forces, built the mountains, levelled the prairies, caused trees to grow, made the Teton River, rested on a hill above it, leaving there the outline of his form, then walked northward, building the Sweet Grass Hills with rocks that he ​carried. Now he covered the earth with grass and fruits, constructed some animals, "little brothers" he called them, and made of clay a woman and her son. In four days this clay was able to walk and speak, and the woman, having seen that the brutes were mortal, asked of her creator if she and her companion would always live. Said Old Man, "I had not thought of that. If this buffalo-chip floats on the river, people will rise again four days after they die. If it sinks, there is an end to them." The dung floated. But the woman was dissatisfied. "Let it be as this stone decides," she said. "If it floats we will live forever." The stone sank, and the son died. So, because of a foolish woman, all must die. But she had other children, very poor, very ignorant, save for what Old Man gave and taught them. They had no weapons until, moved by pity at the sight of several men gored to death by buffalo, Old Man invented the bow and arrow, and taught them to make fire by rubbing sticks, and to make utensils of stone.
At the north end of the Porcupine Mountains he stopped to make another tribe of men, which he did by designing mud images, blowing on them, and commanding them to be people. The animals were following in his track wherever he went, for they understood him, talked with him, and served him willingly, but the new people ate them, and in order still better to appease their hunger he made buffalo enough to occupy the northern plains, for ​this original Eden was, roughly, the country extending cast of the Rocky Mountains for a hundred miles or so, and between the Yellowstone and the North Saskatchewan. Still moving northward, Old Man paused at the meeting of Bow and Elbow Rivers to create another family and teach and provide for it. At Red Deer River he stretched himself on the earth for another sleep, and there you may see the imprint of his form. On waking he moved still farther from the warm lands, where people grow lazy and timid, and climbed to the summit of a tall hill. It was steep, and he amused himself by sliding to the foot, the place being known to this day as Old Man's Sliding Ground. In after-times he set aside this Eden for the Blackfeet, Bloods, Piegans, Gros Ventres, and Sarcees, warning them, when others came, to fight them back. They did so until white men entered the region with friendly protestations, and now the Indians have no land, no game, no place in the world. Had they obeyed Old Man it would have been different. But Old Man has not died, and never will die. He has removed to the mountains in the west, beyond the vexing sight of smelters and locomotives, and when he is sorely wanted by his people he may come back.
# United States Statutes at Large

The United States Statutes at Large, commonly referred to as the Statutes at Large and abbreviated Stat., is the official source for the laws and resolutions passed by United States Congress. It is published by the Office of the Federal Register within the National Archives and Records Administration Warning: template has been deprecated.
Listed here by volume number:
| Vol. 1 | Vol. 2 | Vol. 3 | Vol. 4 | Vol. 5 | Vol. 6 | Vol. 7 | Vol. 8 | Vol. 9 | Vol. 10 |
| Vol. 11 | Vol. 12 | Vol. 13 | Vol. 14 | Vol. 15 | Vol. 16 | Vol. 17 | Vol. 18 | Vol. 19 | Vol. 20 |
| Vol. 21 | Vol. 22 | Vol. 23 | Vol. 24 | Vol. 25 | Vol. 26 | Vol. 27 | Vol. 28 | Vol. 29 | Vol. 30 |
| Vol. 31 | Vol. 32 | Vol. 33 | Vol. 34 | Vol. 35 | Vol. 36 | Vol. 37 | Vol. 38 | Vol. 39 | Vol. 40 |
| Vol. 41 | Vol. 42 | Vol. 43 | Vol. 44 | Vol. 45 | Vol. 46 | Vol. 47 | Vol. 48 | Vol. 49 | Vol. 50 |
| Vol. 51 | Vol. 52 | Vol. 53 | Vol. 54 | Vol. 55 | Vol. 56 | Vol. 57 | Vol. 58 | Vol. 59 | Vol. 60 |
| Vol. 61 | Vol. 62 | Vol. 63 | Vol. 64 | Vol. 65 | Vol. 66 | Vol. 67 | Vol. 68 | Vol. 69 | Vol. 70 |
| Vol. 71 | Vol. 72 | Vol. 73 | Vol. 74 | Vol. 75 | Vol. 76 | Vol. 77 | Vol. 78 | Vol. 79 | Vol. 80 |
| Vol. 81 | Vol. 82 | Vol. 83 | Vol. 84 | Vol. 85 | Vol. 86 | Vol. 87 | Vol. 88 | Vol. 89 | Vol. 90 |
| Vol. 91 | Vol. 92 | Vol. 93 | Vol. 94 | Vol. 95 | Vol. 96 | Vol. 97 | Vol. 98 | Vol. 99 | Vol. 100 |
| Vol. 101 | Vol. 102 | Vol. 103 | Vol. 104 | Vol. 105 | Vol. 106 | Vol. 107 | Vol. 108 | Vol. 109 | Vol. 110 |
| Vol. 111 | Vol. 112 | Vol. 113 | Vol. 114 | Vol. 115 | Vol. 116 | Vol. 117 | Vol. 118 | Vol. 119 | Vol. 120 |
| Vol. 121 | Vol. 122 | Vol. 123 | Vol. 124 | Vol. 125 | Vol. 126 | Vol. 127 | Vol. 128 | Vol. 129 | Vol. 130 |
| Vol. 131 | Vol. 132 | Vol. 133 | Vol. 134 | Vol. 135 | Vol. 136 | Vol. 137 | Vol. 138 | Vol. 139 | Vol. 140 |

## Transcription projects
### Other lists

* Special:Prefixindex/Index:United States Statutes at Large
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916

The Conservative
Edited by H.P. Lovecraft.
Contents
* Benediction
* Another Endless Day
* April
* In Morven's Mead
* The Night Wind Bared My Heart
* R. Kleiner, Laureatus. In Heliconem
* The Best Wine
* Ye Ballade of Patrick von Flynn
The Conservative.
Edited by H.P. Lovecraft in the Interests of the United Amateur Press Association. Office of Publication, 598 Angell St., Providence, R.I., U.S.A. For Circulation among Lovers of Literature.
The Lincoln Press.
# Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Honeywood, Saint John

Edition of 1892.
​HONEYWOOD, Saint John, poet, b. in Leicester, Mass., 7 Feb., 1763; d. in Salem, N. Y., 1 Sept., ​1798. His father, an English physician who had settled in Leicester, was killed at Ticonderoga in 1776 while surgeon in the army, leaving his son destitute. He was educated by friends, and was graduated at Yale in 1782. In 1783-4 he taught m an academy in Schenectady, X. Y., after which he studied law in Albany, and practised in Salem, N. Y., during the remainder of his life. He was one of the presidential electors that chose John Adams as the successor of Washington. His poems, which treat of Washington's declension of a third term, Shays's rebellion, and other political topics, were published after his death (Xew York, 1801).
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916/Another Endless Day

Another Endless Day.
Another endless day; A night that flies too soon; Unwilling toil, half-hearted play, From new to waning moon!
No joy, nor heart to laugh; No hope whore once 'twas high; The cup I've but begun to quaff Is stale--the fountain dry!
Oh, for a cause to fight; A passion or a pang; A love to thrill with new delight; A grief I never sang!
Something to stir my soul As not in life before; To make the weary spirit whole, And bless the day once more!
Rheinhart Kleiner.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916/In Morven's Mead

In Morven's Mead.
In Morven's Mead I heard a cry And sound of glad wings passing by;
And searching softly o'er the ground, A smiling, star-fac'd flower found!
Winifred V. Jordan.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916/The Night Wind Bared My Heart

The Night Wind Bared My Heart.
The Night Wind bared my heart; I felt the old, keen smart Of grief: cold Mem'ry's eyes Her subtle misery plies With art!
The Day Wind heal'd the smart That fasten'd on my heart; But, Oh, from grief was prest The Joys that from my breast Depart!
Winifred Virginia Jordan.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916/R. Kleiner, Laureatus. In Heliconem

R. Kleiner, Laureatus. In Heliconem
Blest by Apollo and th' admiring Nine, On Helicon see tuneful Kleiner shine. Euterpe close his piping lay attends, And with his notes her own in concord blends. Fleet Pegasus th' enchanting music hears, And beats his pinions, and pricks up his ears; Whilst the skill'd Erato, with sacred lyre, Joins in the strain, and feels the noble fire. Melpomene forgets her dark alarms, And Polyhymnia lays aside her psalms: The fair Thalia smiles with brighter grace, And gay Terpsichore suspends her pace: Calliope and Clio rest their quills, As wise Urania at the chorus thrills. The mighty Phoebus trembles on his throne, For Kleiner's chords are sweeter than his own!
H.P. Lovecraft.
# The Conservative (Lovecraft)/April 1916/The Best Wine

The Best Wine
Weary of Care, I went in search of Joy, And drank my greedy fill of Pleasure's Wine, Until, soul-sick, I knew the Grim Decoy; The Bitter Dregs of Discontent were mine.
'Twas then a ragged urchin by the way Held out his little hand--and I confess That in the Joy I gave to him that day I found the Dregless Wine of Happiness!
William de Ryee.
# The TORNADO Act (April 25, 2023)

The TORNADO Act, which was introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/1
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/2
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/3
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/4
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/5
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/6
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/7
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/8
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/9
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​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/17
​Page:The TORNADO Act Introduced to the 118th United States Congress on April 25, 2023.pdf/18
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Weary Blues (collection)/A Farewell

A FAREWELL
With gypsies and sailors,
Wanderers of the hills and seas,
I go to seek my fortune.
With pious folk and fair
I must have a parting. But you will not miss me,— You who live between the hills
And have never seen the seas.
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# The Weary Blues (collection)/A Black Pierrot

A BLACK PIERROT
I am a black Pierrot:
She did not love me,
So I crept away into the night
And the night was black, too.
I am a black Pierrot:
She did not love me,
So I wept until the red dawn
Dripped blood over the eastern hills
And my heart was bleeding, too.
I am a black Pierrot:
She did not love me,
So with my once gay-colored soul
Shrunken like a balloon without air,
I went forth in the morning
To seek a new brown love.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Afraid

AFRAID
We cry among the skyscrapers
As our ancestors
Cried among the palms in Africa
Because we are alone, It is night, And we're afraid.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/After Many Springs

AFTER MANY SPRINGS
Now,
In June,
When the night is a vast softness
Filled with blue stars, And broken shafts of moon-glimmer
Fall upon the earth, Am I too old to see the fairies dance?
I cannot find them any more.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Ardella

ARDELLA
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/As I Grew Older

AS I GREW OLDER
It was a long time ago.
I have almost forgotten my dream.
But it was there then,
In front of me,
Bright like a sun,— My dream.
And then the wall rose, Rose slowly,
Slowly,
Between me and my dream. Rose slowly, slowly,
Dimming,
Hiding, The light of my dream.
Rose until it touched the sky,— The wall.   Shadow.
I am black.
I lie down in the shadow.
No longer the light of my dream before me,
Above me.
Only the thick wall.
Only the shadow.
My hands!
My dark hands!
Break through the wall!
Find my dream! Help me to shatter this darkness,
To smash this night,
To break this shadow Into a thousand lights of sun,
Into a thousand whirling dreams
Of sun!
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Aunt Sue's Stories

AUNT SUE'S STORIES
Aunt Sue has a head full of stories.
Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories.
Summer nights on the front porch
Aunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosom
And tells him stories.
Black slaves
Working in the hot sun, And black slaves
Walking in the dewy night, And black slaves
Singing sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty river
Mingle themselves softly
In the flow of old Aunt Sue's voice, Mingle themselves softly
In the dark shadows that cross and recross
Aunt Sue's stories.
And the dark-faced child, listening,
Knows that Aunt Sue's stories are real stories.
He knows that Aunt Sue
Never got her stories out of any book at all,
But that they came
Right out of her own life.
And the dark-faced child is quiet Of a summer night
Listening to Aunt Sue's stories.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Beggar Boy

BEGGAR BOY
What is there within this beggar lad
That I can neither hear nor feel nor see,
That I can neither know nor understand
And still it calls to me?
Is not he but a shadow in the sun— A bit of clay, brown, ugly, given life?
And yet he plays upon his flute a wild free tune
As if Fate had not bled him with her knife!
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Cabaret

CABARET
Does a jazz-band ever sob?
They say a jazz-band's gay.
Yet as the vulgar dancers whirled
And the wan night wore away,
One said she heard the jazz-band sob
When the little dawn was grey.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Blues Fantasy

BLUES FANTASY
Hey! Hey!
That's what the
Blues singers say. Singing minor melodies
They laugh,
Hey! Hey!
My man's done left me,
Chile, he's gone away.
My good man's left me,
Babe, he's gone away.
Now the cryin' blues
Haunts me night and day.
Hey! . . . Hey!
Weary, Weary,
Trouble, pain.
Sun's gonna shine
Somewhere
Again.
I got a railroad ticket,
Pack my trunk and ride.
Sing 'em, sister!
Got a railroad ticket, Pack my trunk and ride.
And when I get on the train
I'll cast my blues aside.
Laughing,
Hey! . . . Hey!
Laugh a loud,
Hey! Hey!
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Caribbean Sunset

CARIBBEAN SUNSET
God having a hemorrhage,
Blood coughed across the sky,
Staining the dark sea red,
That is sunset in the Caribbean.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Cross

CROSS
My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well.
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder where I'm gonna die,
Being neither white nor black?
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Danse Africaine

DANSE AFRICAINE
The low beating of the tom-toms,
The slow beating of the tom-toms,
Low . . . slow
Slow . . . low— Stirs your blood.
Dance!
A night-veiled girl
Whirls softly into a
Circle of light.
Whirls softly . . . slowly,
Like a wisp of smoke around the fire— And the tom-toms beat,
And the tom-toms beat,
And the low beating of the tom-toms
Stirs your blood.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Death of an Old Seaman

DEATH OF AN OLD SEAMAN
We buried him high on a windy hill,
But his soul went out to sea. I know, for I heard, when all was still,
His sea-soul say to me:
Put no tombstone at my head, For here I do not make my bed.
Strew no flowers on my grave,
I've gone back to the wind and wave.
Do not, do not weep for me,
For I am happy with my sea.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Disillusion

DISILLUSION
I would be simple again, Simple and clean
Like the earth,
Like the rain,
Nor ever know,
Dark Harlem,
The wild laughter
Of your mirth
Nor the salt tears
Of your pain. Be kind to me,
Oh, great dark city.
Let me forget. I will not come
To you again.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Harlem Night Club

HARLEM NIGHT CLUB
Sleek black boys in a cabaret. Jazz-band, jazz-band,— Play, plAY, PLAY!
Tomorrow. . . . who knows?
Dance today!
White girls' eyes
Call gay black boys.
Black boys' lips
Grin jungle joys.
Dark brown girls
In blond men's arms.
Jazz-band, jazz-band,— Sing Eve's charms!
White ones, brown ones,
What do you know About tomorrow
Where all paths go?
Jazz-boys, jazz-boys,– Play, plAY, PLAY!
Tomorrow. . . . is darkness.
Joy today!
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Harlem Night Song

HARLEM NIGHT SONG
Come,
Let us roam the night together
Singing.
I love you.
Across
The Harlem roof-tops
Moon is shining.
Night sky is blue.
Stars are great drops
Of golden dew. In the cabaret
The jazz-band's playing.
I love you.
Come,
Let us roam the night together
Singing.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Joy

JOY
I went to look for Joy,
Slim, dancing Joy,
Gay, laughing Joy,
Bright-eyed Joy,— And I found her
Driving the butcher's cart
In the arms of the butcher boy!
Such company, such company,
As keeps this young nymph, Joy!
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Lament for Dark Peoples

LAMENT FOR DARK PEOPLES
I was a red man one time,
But the white men came.
I was a black man, too,
But the white men came.
They drove me out of the forest. They took me away from the jungles.
I lost my trees.
I lost my silver moons.
Now they've caged me
In the circus of civilization. Now I herd with the many—
Caged in the circus of civilization.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Jazzonia

JAZZONIA
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
In a Harlem cabaret Six long-headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold Lifts high a dress of silken gold.
Oh, singing tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
Were Eve's eyes In the first garden Just a bit too bold? Was Cleopatra gorgeous In a gown of gold?
Oh, shining tree! Oh, silver rivers of the soul!
In a whirling cabaret Six long-headed jazzers play.
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# The Weary Blues (collection)/March Moon

MARCH MOON
The moon is naked.
The wind has undressed the moon. The wind has blown all the cloud-garments
Off the body of the moon
And now she's naked,
Stark naked.
But why don't you blush, O shameless moon? Don't you know
It isn't nice to be naked?
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Mexican Market Woman

MEXICAN MARKET WOMAN
This ancient hag Who sits upon the ground
Selling her scanty wares
Day in, day round,
Has known high wind-swept mountains,
And the sun has made
Her skin so brown.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Lenox Avenue: Midnight

LENOX AVENUE: MIDNIGHT
The rhythm of life
Is a jazz rhythm,
Honey. The gods are laughing at us.
The broken heart of love,
The weary, weary heart of pain,— Overtones,
Undertones,
To the rumble of street cars,
To the swish of rain.
Lenox Avenue,
Honey.
Midnight,
And the gods are laughing at us.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Natcha

NATCHA
Natcha, offering love. For ten shillings offering love.
Offering: A night with me, honey.
A long, sweet night with me.
Come, drink palm wine. Come, drink kisses.
A long, dream night with me.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Negro Dancers

NEGRO DANCERS
"Me an' ma baby's
Got two mo' ways,
Two mo' ways to do de buck!
Da, da,
Da, da, da!
Two mo' ways to do de buck!"
Soft light on the tables,
Music gay,
Brown-skin steppers
In a cabaret.
White folks, laugh!
White folks, pray!
"Me an' ma baby's
Got two mo' ways,
Two mo' ways to do de buck!"
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Long Trip

LONG TRIP
The sea is a wilderness of waves,
A desert of water.
We dip and dive,
Rise and roll,
Hide and are hidden
On the sea.
Day, night,
Night, day,
The sea is a desert of waves,
A wilderness of water.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Nude Young Dancer

NUDE YOUNG DANCER
What jungle tree have you slept under, Midnight dancer of the jazzy hour?
What great forest has hung its perfume
Like a sweet veil about your bower?
What jungle tree have you slept under,
Night-dark girl of the swaying hips?
What star-white moon has been your mother?
To what clean boy have you offered your lips?
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Pierrot

PIERROT
I work all day,
Said Simple John,
Myself a house to buy.
I work all day,
Said Simple John,
But Pierrot wondered why.
For Pierrot loved the long white road,
And Pierrot loved the moon,
And Pierrot loved a star-filled sky,
And the breath of a rose in June.
I have one wife,
Said Simple John,
And, faith, I love her yet.
I have one wife,
Said Simple John,
But Pierrot left Pierrette.
For Pierrot saw a world of girls,
And Pierrot loved each one,
And Pierrot thought all maidens fair
As flowers in the sun.
Oh, I am good,
Said Simple John,
The Lord will take me in.
Yes, I am good,
Said Simple John,
But Pierrot's steeped in sin.
For Pierrot played on a slim guitar,
And Pierrot loved the moon, And Pierrot ran down the long white road
With the burgher's wife one June.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Our Land

OUR LAND
Poem for a Decorative Panel
We should have a land of sun,
Of gorgeous sun,
And a land of fragrant water
Where the twilight
Is a soft bandanna handkerchief
Of rose and gold,
And not this land where life is cold.
We should have a land of trees,
Of tall thick trees
Bowed down with chattering parrots
Brilliant as the day,
And not this land where birds are grey.
Ah, we should have a land of joy,
Of love and joy and wine and song,
And not this land where joy is wrong.
Oh, sweet, away!
Ah, my beloved one, away!
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Poem-For the Portrait of an African Boy

POEM
For the portrait of an African boy after the manner of Gauguin
All the tom-toms of the jungles beat in my blood,
And all the wild hot moons of the jungles shine in my soul.
I am afraid of this civilization— So hard,
So strong,
So cold.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Poem-To the Black Beloved

POEM
To the Black Beloved
Ah,
My black one,
Thou art not beautiful
Yet thou hast
A loveliness
Surpassing beauty.
Oh,
My black one,
Thou art not good
Yet thou hast
A purity
Surpassing goodness.
Ah,
My black one,
Thou art not luminous
Yet an altar of jewels,
An altar of shimmering jewels,
Would pale in the light
Of thy darkness,
Pale in the light
Of thy nightness.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Poem (To F. S.)

POEM
(To F. S.)
I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
The poem ends, Soft as it began,— I loved my friend.
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# The Weary Blues (collection)/Proem

PROEM
I am a Negro: Black as the night is black, Black like the depths of my Africa.
I've been a slave: Cæsar told me to keep his door-steps clean. I brushed the boots of Washington.
I've been a worker: Under my hand the pyramids arose. I made mortar for the Woolworth Building.
I've been a singer: All the way from Africa to Georgia I carried my sorrow songs. I made ragtime.
I've been a victim: The Belgians cut off my hands in the Congo. They lynch me now in Texas.
I am a Negro: Black as the night is black, Black like the depths of my Africa.
Layout 2
# The Weary Blues (collection)/Port Town

PORT TOWN
Hello, sailor boy,
In from the sea! Hello, sailor,
Come with me!
Come on drink cognac.
Rather have wine? Come here, I love you.
Come and be mine.
Lights, sailor boy,
Warm, white lights.
Solid land, kid.
Wild, white nights.
Come on, sailor,
Out o' the sea.
Let's go, sweetie!
Come with me.
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# The Weary Blues (collection)/Poème d'Automne

POÈME D'AUTOMNE
The autumn leaves
Are too heavy with color.
The slender trees
On the Vulcan Road
Are dressed in scarlet and gold
Like young courtesans
Waiting for their lovers. But soon
The winter winds
Will strip their bodies bare
And then
The sharp, sleet-stung
Caresses of the cold
Will be their only
Love.
Layout 2