Originally posted by pawnfondlerIs that like the Borat swimsuit?
Mankini.
Now there's a word I had to google.
Turns out, the mental image is just as bad as the real image.
http://www.google.ca/[WORD TOO LONG]//addictedtojane-wouldyoueversportthisswimsuit.buzznet.com/user/photos/would-ever-sport-borat- ...[text shortened]... 140&ty=134&sig=102604221130699407779&page=1&tbnh=147&tbnw=97&start=0&ndsp=34&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0
Originally posted by gareth cobbThe Silken Tent
capricious
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
-Robert Frost
A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
Dylan Thomas