In ev'ry life there comes a winter bleak That, in it, never yet seems life to come And on each heart such desolation wreak That even light from Heaven seems succumb'. But, even as in year, doth follow Spring As ever hath it, through all Ages past Yet...
Night-time. Why is it, I wonder… Always, always it is at night when The fury of a hurricane makes itself felt. Perhaps it is because the spirit of the storm Delights in the darkness, for there it can Unleash its rage most potently, most Anonymously...
