Primo

song recorded at nick sheas home studio. "In the swamp in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary in the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat, Deaths outlet song of life, (for well dear brother i know, If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.) W. WHITMAN....................."The poet is the sayer, the namer, and represents beauty. He is a sovereign, and stands on the centre. For the world is not painted or adorned, but is from the beginning beautiful; and God has not made some beautiful things, but Beauty is the creator of the universe. There-fore the poet is not any permissive potentate, but is emperor in his own right." RALPH WALDO EMERSON.....Then there will be no music but the sound of rushing water that breaks on the pointed rocks far below, and the sighing of the wind in the pinyons-a warm wind that gently caresses my cheeks, ruffles my hair tenderly, and wanders downwards. Alone I will follow the dark trail, black void on one side and unattainable heights on the other, darkness before me, darkness that pulses and flows and is felt. Then suddenly, an unreal breath of wind coming from infinite depths will bring to my ears again the strange, dimly-remembered sound of the rushing water. When that sound dies, all dies. EVERETT RUESS