Gimme a drink
Out of my depth without a rudder
To a halt my WordPress prompts judder
Ill on the brink from blues
I’ll need to drink more booze
Think what we may lose next and shudder
Alan Grace
20 July 2018
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And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp’d
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir’d before;
The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe.
