Virtue

Speaking of wine, poetry or virtue, here's today's poem.

Virtue

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky;
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie;
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

-- George Herbert

(no subject)

Post-apocalypse. Wonderful phrase, no?

Oh dear

Amount of time spent doing actual work = none

Amount of time spent doing ironing = none

Amount of time spent making icons = none (seriously)

Amount of time spent writing StellaMacficthatwilleventuallykillmybrain = lots.

Also? Have developed an obsession with multiple suboradinate clauses from hell. This fic will be interesting, I feel.

Edited: dear god, I actually finished the fic. This completion is surreal. And I got another email from JP.