
Drawn by
howling-madfoxhatter in their lovely, unique style :D

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of mortal,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images , where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water.
Only There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different
from either Your shadow at morning
striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening
rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Category All / All
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File Size 121.1 kB
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