Out of the dust of dreams
Fairies weave their garments.
Out of the purple and rose of old memories
they make rainbow wings.
by Langston Hughes
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A health to our future, asign for our past, We love, we remember, we hope to the last, And for all the base lies that the almanacs hold, While we've youth in our hearts we can never grow old.
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