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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
If you could pick any job to do, what would it be? For me, it is quite similar to the job that I am already doing, but I would do it in a slightly different way. I currently work as a writer and editor but I am freelance. I would like to work for a larger publishing house and work on novels that are waiting to be published. That is very much what I would like to do, but unfortunately there is nowhere like that to work in my local areas at the moment.
What about you? If you could pick any job in the world, what would it be and why?