The Feminization of TN

[alice wellintown]

If it could last, it would not be tender, the dew on Rosemary would be
sprayed on under the hot lights, it would be al theatre and mechanical
bride.

 But it is tender dew on beauty and it must be transcient, fleeting,
for who would sing for ladies of Byzantium were they hammered by gold
smiths? The shadow, as Wordsworth sez, closes as a prison on beauty's
tender days and dries the dew.  That is no country for old, lest
forever one wipes tears from all eyes and lycisdas rises to meet Tim
Finnagan.