A priest, a pastor and a rabbit walked in to a blood donation clinic.
The nurse asked the rabbit: “What is your blood type?”
“I am probably a type O”, said the rabbit.
Sharing one of my favorite poems since childhood.
By the 12thc warrior poet Xin Qiji 辛棄疾, who was sidelined during peacetime, demoted, drifting through a decade of minor posts in remote lands.
Poetry, then, is that which is left unsaid.
“My, what a cool and lovely autumn.”