Ah, dearest Jesus, Holy Child,
Make thee a bed, soft, undefiled,
Within my heart that it may be
A quiet chamber just for thee.
Merry Christmas to all Fred Poets, wherever you are!
Uncluttering before the holidays
4 hours ago
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and to see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.