908. Now is the summer of our discontent
Now is the summer of our discontent
Made ne'er glorious by this son of privilege;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep wounds of a nation buried.
Made ne'er glorious by this son of privilege;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep wounds of a nation buried.
posted by Randy G @ 8:21 PM permalink
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home