excellent meeting
Sep. 22nd, 2004 01:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
incandescensI had a really excellent meeting with my boss today. We made some plans for the future that will be a positive pleasure (or at least not too much of a pain) to carry out. Good. Excellent. Cross fingers. Absit omen.
(The poem below draws within measurable distance of its end, for those who grow wearied.)
---
The Man In The Golden Mask
[...]
"I am the ghost," Athos intoned,
"Of days that are too gone to save;
Of fertile land you may have owned,
But husbanded into a grave."
"I am the ghost," said Aramis,
"Of this fair day and this cold night;
The depth of your dishonor is
Too great to reach a morning's light."
D'Artagnan said, "I am the ghost
Of all your days that lie ahead:
Their number's nought. Now ride you post
To fall in company with the dead."
And with his rapier's point he snuffed the light.
Then Porthos rose to his gigantic height,
And thundered in a voice like Roland's horn:
"I am the little crippled one you scorned!"
Then Josserand let fly a strangled scream,
Turned stumble-toed, and stared into the beam
Of a small lantern held without the room;
There stood the stranger with his mask a-gleam
His black cloak spread out like a winged Doom.
"Is this the night the Devil wanders free?"
Said Josserand. "But what else can it be?
What purpose can you have in killing me?"
[...]
-- John M Ford
(The poem below draws within measurable distance of its end, for those who grow wearied.)
---
The Man In The Golden Mask
[...]
"I am the ghost," Athos intoned,
"Of days that are too gone to save;
Of fertile land you may have owned,
But husbanded into a grave."
"I am the ghost," said Aramis,
"Of this fair day and this cold night;
The depth of your dishonor is
Too great to reach a morning's light."
D'Artagnan said, "I am the ghost
Of all your days that lie ahead:
Their number's nought. Now ride you post
To fall in company with the dead."
And with his rapier's point he snuffed the light.
Then Porthos rose to his gigantic height,
And thundered in a voice like Roland's horn:
"I am the little crippled one you scorned!"
Then Josserand let fly a strangled scream,
Turned stumble-toed, and stared into the beam
Of a small lantern held without the room;
There stood the stranger with his mask a-gleam
His black cloak spread out like a winged Doom.
"Is this the night the Devil wanders free?"
Said Josserand. "But what else can it be?
What purpose can you have in killing me?"
[...]
-- John M Ford
