Luck was a joke. Even good luck was just bad luck with its hair combed.
They sat and combed their beautiful hair,Their long, bright tresses, one by one,As they laughed and talked in the chamber there,After the revel was done.nora perry
the streams buck like rams in a tent / whips crack and from the hills come the crookedly combed /shadows of the shepherds. /black eggs and fools’ bells fall from the trees. / thunder drums and kettledrums beat upon the ears of the donkeys. / wings brush against flowers. / fountains spring up in the eyes of the wild boar.hans arp