image of winter by way of my sister

yes its exhausting.
not exactly

w~ shake his spear's

picturing of it

| __________________________________ Heres what I think of winter ~

in



this play he penned

Love's Labour's Lost

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marion’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs his in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

_____________________________

Of course Love's Labour's Lost is a comedy?
I cant recall
its been a time and two since I conned it
speakingof which con is
an old Elizabethan verb
signifyin
read

_____________
I do and do like
the image of Love
as Labour
not work
Labour is at the best
your own
whereas work
is someone else's
like apartments
and "landlords"
and labour
is langour
constrasted
to that shite


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