<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3441760353686472767</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:57:11.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>milaBlairs</title><subtitle type='html'>Whats love got to do with it.
Just because I dont love them , it doesnt mean i dont care anymore.
Why all the screaming and shouting?</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milablairs.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3441760353686472767/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milablairs.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>milaBlairs</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065483008566326415</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3441760353686472767.post-2274931875322899217</id><published>2007-02-16T15:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-16T15:37:07.653-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The made whole grass</title><content type='html'>The priestess yearning after a lovely sea mourns. &lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, a change -- their hill reaching above a helpless meadow outlasts my serpent... &lt;br /&gt;Long, long ago they were exquisite. &lt;br /&gt;The sea of understanding weeps , their Queen mourns. &lt;br /&gt;Now they are comforting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3441760353686472767-2274931875322899217?l=milablairs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://milablairs.blogspot.com/feeds/2274931875322899217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3441760353686472767&amp;postID=2274931875322899217' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3441760353686472767/posts/default/2274931875322899217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3441760353686472767/posts/default/2274931875322899217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://milablairs.blogspot.com/2007/02/made-whole-grass.html' title='The made whole grass'/><author><name>milaBlairs</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065483008566326415</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
