Sunday, July 5, 2009

Kim & Deb


S said...

Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and porpoise.
In my end is my beginning.

T S Eliot

Deb said...

Thank you S. That means a lot.