A dying tiger moaned for Drink-
I hunted all the Sand-
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand-
His Mighty Balls-in death were thick-
But searching - I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water - and of me-
'Twas not my blame - who sped too slow-
'Twas not his blame - who died
While I was reaching him-
But 'twas - the fact that He was dead-
Poem by Emily Dickenson
In waking a tiger,
use a long stick.
- Quote by Mao Tse-Tung
ROMANTIC
