cityward migration

Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust, the dust is earth, of earth we make loam, and of why that loam whereto he was converted might they not stop a beer-barrel?

“On this one hole, Donald hits his second and fats it into the water,” Faxon remembers. “But he quickly says to me, ‘Hey, throw me another ball; they weren’t looking.’ So I do. But he fats that one into the water, too. So he drives up and drops where he should’ve dropped the first time and hits it on the green.” }

For here forlorn and loſt I tread, / With fainting ſteps and ſlow; / Where wilds immeaſurably ſpread, / Seem lengthening as I go.