A freelance translator, born and living in Russia. Not afraid of asking stupid bio-related questions. (0:
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Still will I harvest beauty where it grows:
In coloured fungus and the spotted fog
Surprised on foods forgotten; in ditch and bog
Filmed brilliant with irregular rainbows
Of rust and oil, where half a city throws
Its empty tins; and in some spongy log
Whence headlong leaps the oozy emerald frog. . . .
And a black pupil in the green scum shows.
Member for 6 years, 2 months
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Last seen Feb 11 at 11:47