And let me have all the freedom I need
Let me write my scarred frustrations
on this paper and make the pen bleed
Time wounds all heels and sowing this literary crop unreaps the mighty seed ...
Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
With the old moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.