|
|
|
O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. -William Blake (1757-1827), The Sick Rose, from Songs of Experience |
| If you have enjoyed my photographs, please consider making a donation to an innovative education project led by us, a project that seeks to help poor kids in rural India. |