The souls did from their bodies fly, –
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!
The cross-bow that he used to kill the albatross that now hangs from his neck. When we do wrong, it drags us down. We are burdened by it until we have paid the price. What price redemption?
Station ruin in Flinders Ranges (July 2009)
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