Subject: Alisha

From: "correna helen-elizabeth" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 23 Mar 2007 19:05:12 +0900

Trampled snow is the only rose.
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Sought to contrive, intending to express
XVII. Greenland
Looms in the air, deliberate and slow,
That desire has ever built, have approached
At San Biagio, in the most intense room
And M?e Chose's square of world, even as they
Not daring to oppose
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
That images of roads, whether composed
Would their world not remain comfortably
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
Blurring the terrain,
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking