Aught
No slaves were born, nor barefoot servants trod
Here. No king built our city on the sea,
But honest toil in sunshine raised this wall.
Unlike ancient orders ruled by Gods
(Or rather, priests in cloth-of-gold with keys
of brass), the aristocrats in our halls
Were born not of their parents but instead
Built themselves. Nowadays, we breed peasants
(Or rather, rats who build with feces and
The odd scrap trickled down). Sir Isaac said
We stand upon the shoulders of giants,
But I say we're sleeping in the ragman's
Shadow. Like the ancient publicans of Rome,
We give up what we must to keep our homes.
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Welcome to the ever-evolving site of the Cherry Blossom
King. Like any library, this site will accrete content slowly
until only the librarian (and perhaps those armed with an
Aleph) will be able to find anything.
For the moment, however, there's little enough here.
The Eternal City
In April of 2005, we went to Rome. The day after we arrived, Pope John Paul II died. Much fun ensued.
Days One and Two
Days Three and Four
Days Five and Six
Days Seven and Eight (forthcoming, eventually)
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