Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
tis the season
Sunday, May 11, 2014
GOD HAD NO GENDER
My mother in 1959
My mother Nov., 1915 to July, 2007
"Mothering God, hear our prayer. Keep us in thy loving care. Be our guide in all we do and bless all those who love us too. Amen"