We gather at night to celebratebeing human. Sometimes we call out lowto the tambourine. Fish drink the sea, but the sea does not get smaller! Weeat the clouds and evening light. Weare slaves tasting the royal wine.
RumiAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Born: September 30, 1207
- Died: December 17, 1273
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Thinking of Macintosh's reaction to Veronica, Grant felt a wave of empathy. "Poor kid's going to be mooning like a puppy for a month. Did you have to smile at him?"Really, Grant. He can't be more than fifteen."Old enough to break out in a sweat," he commented."Hormones," she murmured as she found Fairfield's sparse selection of wine. "They just need time to balance."Grant's gaze drifted down and focused as she bent over. "It should only take thirty or forty years," he muttered.
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