A POISON TREE

WAS angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears;

And I sunnèd it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright;

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,

When the night had veiled the pole:

In the morning glad I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

by: William Blake (1757-1827)

Got so much to do. This week is the time I sit down with the PhD and assess where I am up to. My foe is not so much a person or a thing more a mindset that tells me that I can't get all this done.