| Yesterday, Time was lapping at our ankles. |
| It's turned into something almost deep enough to drift in, now. If we stand still and wait for a whisper, we can't help but see the waters rise. |
| P.C. Mom |
| P.C. Mom |
| "In fierce March weather White waves break tether, |
| "And whirled together At either hand, |
| "Like weeds uplifted, The tree-trunks rifted |
| "In spars are drifted, Like foam or sand." ~W. Shakespeare |