Feb. 13th, 2007

incandescens: (Default)
A moderately busy day, and then a moderately busy evening trying to put some stuff together. We'll see if it works out.

Work keeps on trying to skimp on money by only replacing the coffee when absolutely necessary. This means that far too often we're left with nothing but decaff in the kitchen. I call this a crime. A crime, sir!

---

Winter

Wind piercing, hill bare, hard to find shelter;
Ford turns foul, lake freezes.
A man could stand on a stalk.

Wave on wave cloaks the land's edge;
Shrill the shrieks from the peaks of the mountain;
One can scarce stand outside.

Cold the lake-bed from winter's blast;
Dried reeds, stalk broken;
Angry wind, woods stripped naked.

Cold bed of fish beneath a screen of ice;
Stag lean, stalks bearded;
Short evening, trees bent over.

Snow is falling, white the soil.
Soldiers go not campaigning.
Cold lakes, their color sunless.

Snow is falling, white hoar-frost.
Shield idle on an old shoulder.
Wind intense, shoots are frozen.

Snow is falling upon the ice.
Wind is sweeping thick tree-tops.
Shield bold on a brave shoulder.

Snow is falling, cloaks the valley.
Soldiers hasten to battle.
I go not, a wound stays me.

Snow is falling on the slope.
Stallion confined; lean cattle.
No summer day is today.

Snow is falling, white the mountain's edge.
Ship's mast bare at sea.
A coward conceives many schemes.

-- Anonymous (translation is from the Oxford Book of Welsh Poetry in English)

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