What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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White Dove
One, two, three, two, two, three
White dove sittin' on a blackberry bush
Is there any questioning why
Tell me what heaven you're bound for today
Feel just like I could cry
Feel just like I could cry
Little squirrel sitting on a flat slanted rock
Wondering where the winter meal is coming from
Tired of fighting for it, gonna lay down my gun
Just know that my work is done
Just know that my work is done
Little boy blue now come blow your horn
No more of the sheep is around
Said I'm tired of fighting, gonna lay down my gun
Just know that my work is done
Just know that my work is done
Just know that my work is done
Just know that my work is done