The morn when first it thunders in March,
The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say:
As I leaned and looked over the aloed arch
Of the villa-gate this warm March day,
No flash snapped, no dumb thunder rolled
In the valley beneath where, white and wide
And washed by the morning water-gold,
Florence lay out on the mountain-side.
-Robert Browning
(2) Griffin House
I went to Amsterdam;
I got so lost
Down the way.
I took the crooked path;
I wish that I'd never stayed.
I cannot change the past;
Can I change?
Change the past?
-Griffin House
(3) Tasha Tilberg
[no words]
