In moody rucks…

In honour of tonight’s    last weekend’s test. Programmed blogger to automatically put it up on Saturday: for some reason it didn’t take.

Wallace Stevens, modernist poet.  Excerpt from  The Comedian as the Letter C:

How greatly had he grown in his demesne, This auditor of insects!
He that saw 
The stride of vanishing autumn in a park 
By way of decorous melancholy; he 
That wrote his couplet yearly to the spring, 
As dissertation of profound delight,
 Stopping, on voyage, in a land of snakes, 
Found his vicissitudes had much enlarged 
His apprehension, made him intricate 
In moody rucks, and difficult and strange 
In all desires, his destitution’s mark. 
He was in this as other freemen are, 
Sonorous nutshells rattling inwardly. 

 What better description of a ref’s whistle than ‘sonorous nutshells rattling inwardly’??

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