It was not part of their blood

It came to them very late

With long arrears to make good,

When the SAXONS began to hate,

They were not easily moved,

They were icy-willing to wait

Till every count should be proved

Ere the SAXONS began to hate.

Their voices were even and low,

Their eyes were level and straight,

There was neither sign nor show,

When the SAXONS began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd

It was not taught by the State,

No man spoke it aloud,

When the SAXONS began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred,

It will not swiftly abate

Through the chilled years ahead

When Time shall count from the date

That the SAXONS began to hate.

—- by Rudyard Kipling

long time no post —I thought that some suitable poetry would be in order.

For all you Saxons out there. Of course, we could exchange the words Saxon for anything else. Like Celt–or better yet Aryan. I had read this one before and had pass it on.

BW,

I think you are a Saxon. So I thought you would like this.

The world is lunatic asylum. Those who aren’t part of that group, well, they aren’t lunatics, are they?

Nietsche thought that madness was the ultimate sanity. Being in the lunatic center, I feel, is the RIGHT place to be, considering where everyone else is, and where everyone elses opinions are leading them.