the sick woes

O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

William Blake

[3/10 day - meeting friends suddenly in town, and other unplanned outages of conscience and study ethic I can do without. I need to wake up and see it all more clearly than I did today and make the right and better thing happen]