Vale Harold.

Just yesterday I was writing in this very blog of my local friend who used to visit.

Today I learned that last night, even as I was writing about him, he passed away in Perth.

So it goes.

Vale Harold.

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Edit 12/4/2018:


Author: Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

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