Thane of the Thistles,

Most lordly Lord,

Rides over an eiderdown

Field of frowse,

The hoary hound bays from its frosty lair.

Startled birds fly up, flurry of feathers;

The frightened maid flees in terror, in stumbling,

Fast plunging feet, icegrass breaking , shattering.

Roust out! he roars and flashes his sword;

Fear not, I fail not! puts spur to his horse;

A ravaging wind slings sleet in his teeth;

Huge the hound rises and bares his hot

teeth      teeth      teeth

And there, there through sheets of driven sleet:

‘Tis Molly, by Gott! on the edge of the jagged

teeth      teeth      teeth

Cliff,   hanging by her nails! he surges forward-  Molly!

But too late. And down she goes, shrieking

Like nails down a blackboard…

–the ragged old script writer

slumped over the keys a moment

to ease his back, knocked back some Jack;

And reeled in a fresh page…

EPISODE II , he typed…

On Leaving Port

From Sharon, CTH

Child of My love, lean hard,

And let me feel the pressure of thy care;

I know thy burden, child. I shaped it;

Poised it in Mine Own hand; made no proportion

In its weight to thine unaided strength,

For even as I laid it on, I said,

“I shall be near, while he leans on Me,

This burden shall be Mine, not his;

So shall I keep My child within the circling arms

Of My Own love.” Here lay it down, nor fear

To impose on a shoulder which upholds

The government of worlds. Yet closer come:

So I might feel My child reposing on my breast.

Thou lovest Me?

I knew it.

Doubt not then; but loving Me, lean hard.