Emily Dickinson
God made a little Gentian—
It tried—to be a Rose—
And failed—and all the Summer laughed—
But just before the Snows
There rose a Purple Creature—
That ravished all the Hill—
And Summer hid her Forehead—
And Mockery—was still—
The Frosts were her condition—
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North—invoke it—
Creator—Shall I—bloom?
Archive for January, 2008
How awesome is this? Sweet Child O’ Mine, classical Indian style.
Interested in gettin’ the crowd wild at future concerts? If so, here are some phrases you might want to bust out:
1. “Where my Saskatoon bitches at?”
3. “Let’s pour out some Labatt for our lost homies…”
4. “Wave your mittens in the air, wave ‘em like you just don’t care!”
5. “Growin’ up in the Ottawa projects certainly [...]
