adin
W. H. Auden, The Average.
His peasant parents killed themselves with toil
To let their darling leave a stingy soil
For any of those smart professions which
Encourage shallow breathing, and grow rich.
The pressure of their fond ambition made
Their shy and country-loving child afraid
No sensible career was good enough,
Only a hero could deserve such love.
So here he was without maps or supplies,
A hundred miles from any decent town;
The desert glared into his blood-shot eyes;
The silence roared displeasure: looking down,
He saw the shadow of an Average Man
Attempting the Exception, and ran.
Czech Republic
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My Albums
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Album: Polaroid
shared by adin on 2013-12-26 · 39 Photos 117 -
Album: smithereens
shared by adin on 2013-12-26 · 22 Photos 1 71 -
Album: From Me To You
shared by adin on 2012-05-23 · 56 Photos 177
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