(Illustration found here).
“Dawn“ by Miss Emily Dickinson
When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the spaces,
It ‘s time to smooth the hair
And get the dimples ready,
And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
That frightened but an hour.
Another day, another time to be boxer-shorts-shitting frightened, and way-more than just 60 minutes:
Eliza Bennet is the hottest, ass-knocking chick this side of Trinity — and is beyond proficient in the deadly arts.
She kicked the shit out of love-sick, befuddled Mr. Darcy, and can handle a mob of the undead with a flick of her dreaded Katana sword, chopping up Satan’s Spawns with all the grace of Aphrodite and the ruthlessness of Herod.
Beware of pissing off Miss Bennet, however, as she’d quickly open your throat, or slice up your gizzard, snatch out the intestines, and choke your ass on your own entrails.
And the writer, Jane Austen, who’d have thought — in the ghastly plague that swept the UK in the last years of the 18th century and into the 19th, Austin was a samurai/ninja, highly-excellent in the slaying of the unmentionables.
And what about Miss Dickinson — my most favorite of all the poets, quiet, unassuming, gifted — and her abilities in the deadly arts?
A student of Master Pei Liu of the Shaolin Temple in Henan Province, Miss Dickinson was a champion with her Zatoichi Cane sword and then took the skills back to America for a time.
Reportedly, however, under Austen’s advice and consent, and while on safari in the UK, alone once slaughtered three-score and six zombies in an ambush of the diseased ones just south of Kent.
Who’d have figured?