December 2006
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop wit
Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring fl
Eftersom Luciatåget i går natt har förstört min dygnsrytm så kan jag inte sova. Alltså satte jag mig vid datorn och upptäckte att jag blivit antagen till Religio
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