O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
This is prolly where you put "MY sona not yours no messing with my sona or sorrow will be upon you."
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| Code Base | Himmalerin |
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Appearance
The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.
Personality
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard and sore must be the storm, that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land and on the strangest sea. Yet, never in extremity has it asked a crumb of me.
History
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, and swallows calling with their shimmering sound; and frogs in the pools singing at night, and wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fir, whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; and not one will know of the war, not one will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, if mankind perished utterly; and Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, would scarcely know that we were gone.
Relationships
I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light.
Then, even of fellowship, O moon, tell me, Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?
Thou silver deity of secret night, Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade; Thou conscious witness of unknown delight, The Lover’s guardian, and the Muse’s aid! By thy pale beams I solitary rove, To thee my tender grief confide; Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove, My friend, my goddess, and my guide …
Art thou pale for weariness, of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth—and ever changing, like a joyless eye that finds no object worth its constancy?
Trivia
oh a stinkbug
Gallery
stinkbugs are little stinkers ):< WHY do you keep coming into my residence?! What right do you have you little!! nuisances!!! leave this domain, i shall cast thee out with a vengeful hand. from my lips i utter a curse; cursed are you! cursed will be your progeny! they shall know no rest, all endeavors of theirs will be for naught. your lot is death; the birds of the air will devour you in hordes, and beneath the soles of human feet will you be crushed.
all of this could have been avoided if you had just kept your darn selves out of my house ):<< S.M.H.