when_my_sisters_wake blueberries the rooster crows at 53o but it takes much more than his lame effort to raise the dead. they stumble, heavy-footed down the steps, one after the other, long hair tangled like medusa, cheeks pink with the remembrance of pleasant dream, beauty as fragile as the sunrise appearing over the bare tree's horizon. 011125 what's it to you? who go blather from