Auguries of a new winter season

Once in a while - having succumbed to becoming an amenable mechanical labour resource unit for fuck-knows-what in return from society - we have a goddamn duty to think about all the beautiful, celestial things in life outside the fucking man made shit hole Canary Wharf. 


Like a beautiful poem reminiscent of a time when we were young and spiteful and insanely happy. This is a less thought of one than our old favourite, Auguries of Innocence (William Blake):


Stars - Robert Frost

How countlessly they congregate O'er our tumultuous snow, Which flows in shapes as tall as trees When wintry winds do blow!-- As if with keenness for our fate, Our faltering few steps on To white rest, and a place of rest Invisible at dawn,-- And yet with neither love nor hate, Those stars like some snow-white Minerva's snow-white marble eyes Without the gift of sight

Welcome to winter again, and the endless waiting for some precious few happy days of skiing. Please snow gods, be generous.