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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=397277" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Thing Of Beauty</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A thing of beauty fails in the subdue light, <br>And before revelation sorrow takes the place<br>Of the breath of life, with seasons changing swift, <br>We follow the flight from beginning to the end.<br>And find again the heart of another brighter summer, <br>Display a thing of beauty hanging in heaven, <br>The excitement outstretch with blessings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Yorkshire, time moves more slowly by great force, <br>Than the gales that blow in the busy cities of London, <br>Searching the shops for things to make people happy, <br>Time and chance opportunity stirs hostility everywhere, <br>Within the soul comes murmuring from every town, <br>Requiring the gold we earn by pleasure spurned. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They lift their voices for heroes and fans to loudly cheer.<br>The youths loitering till late on darker streets, <br>The silence of paradise is broken dead leaves falling.<br>Rustle within the vale, the sound of a strange heroic tale, <br>Hostility gives chase and trouble engages lawless men.<br>The spectra of dominance cramp in narrow streets <br>Police and thieves behind shields make their den, <br>That midnight mealy flowed between anger and frustration<br>No good voice was there to stop the banging drum. <br>Sorrow beat the heart deep sound as a nightmare, <br>In an awful dream, baffled beleaguered government, <br>Watch in disbelief hostility played out on the streets, <br>While they clasp their hands and wait for the mist to lift, <br>Youths with hooded tops, caps and trainers go on the run.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Planned discreet games and making mocking noises, <br>When the cathedral bell toll it will tell the awful story <br>That society has failed; if this is the only heritage. <br>Then the shuffling future looks bleaker and further away, <br>Than the unemployed on the streets where I live, <br>Proclaiming morning, evening and night time prayers, <br>The ghostly host of spirit breaks far into the air, <br>With a rushing wave like a trouble army on sentry pace, <br>Even the solemn church bells could not stop, <br>Phantom cars driving along over hump back roads.<br>Yorkshire was a thing of beauty, picturesque <br>History making the benign heritage we have. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Policemen stop the youths and question them, <br>I am kin to the dilemma that is taking place, <br>and here I pine between these narrow streets, <br>Wishing for a better life than the one I behold.<br>History in making will tell a different story, <br>From a hidden agenda truth will not be known, <br>Most will believe a lie, and practice deception.<br>What a tribulation, chaos and confusion. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Yorkshire smoke will hide all the fears, <br>We only the faint glimpses of future years, <br>and sad tears began dripping from mine eyes, <br>Into a silent prayer for the children of tomorrow, <br>And Heaven knows the pain of my heart, <br>Yorkshire too will bath in the blood of sorrow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But in picturesque villages are some good things, <br>that lie unseen below the clouds and the skies, <br>Where free bird soars as angels spread their wings<br>A thing of beauty glow in the sun, moon, and stars.<br>A blanket to cover the saints from evil all devices, <br>And protect them from the snare of the fowler<br>And noisome pestilence that walks at noonday. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">God looks out at the night upon the houses, <br>From out of the heavenly skies, he can see in the dark, <br>Hear our speech, see our tears, and know our years.<br>When the dew is dried and morning rain seemed stark</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know the way to mount Zion, after church of God, <br>And Wesleyans looking back at what they had, <br>Long ago left on the sidewalk where dogs walk, <br>Narrow minds looking for joy than cannot be found, <br>Puzzle by the strangest art sometimes they bark, <br>Unnecessarily at people they don't like meddling.<br>On path the police find emptiness driving around, <br>In cozy cars breaking traffic lights on radon call, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hour by hour the tribulation trauma starts to creeps in <br>Upon the Yorkshire moors finding more squally rain<br>And the peace we have dream about in the countryside <br>Can be found in the cities of Leeds and York, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Save in the splendor of our dreams, when the wit is in <br>The pleasure of intoxication creeps slowly out <br>and we behold the ramifications not in its full glory <br>For in time of recovery desire surely will come again<br>unto young men and women looking like half dress fairy <br>Slowly sinking into a dismal realm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behind the hills; with the smoke going higher into the air <br>And the dead depart to heaven go above the white trees <br>Glimmering in the starlight: they join other waiting ghosts <br>from life they had been we will know them no more. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes the cold wind that rises in the dead of night <br>suddenly sweeps inward from scarbough to York <br>rustling the heather on Ilkley moors with a weeping voice <br>Whistling through the blackness with mournful wail, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Echoing at evening from the Yorkshire foot hills. <br>In many joyless homes relationships are broken, <br>Children home alone, left with dogs and cuddling cats<br>Seek comfort when fathers are absent or dropp in unseen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Yorkshire life was honey sweet burst into bloom<br>We hear the sweetest tune played in the stillness at even<br>And the melody goes out with the shadows at night<br>Surrounded by hopeful anticipation of divine favor<br>The stars covet our lowly existence and soon the towns, <br>Burst with riotous living even the corners of quiet valleys, <br>Are not spared the trauma fast fall the troublesome seal, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And many voices lament for these things to go away.<br>From that love country all that has been violate, <br>A thing of beauty I found in churches where I pray </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Happy days have seen the lamp burns with bright glow.<br>Yorkshire was the valley of my paradise, unstrained delight, <br>By the familiar path I have walked, to find again my dream? <br>In the garden of lilies' and roses formed bright, <br>In Yorkshire once before, I met some heavenly friends, <br>And society had stolen a part of my heart, <br>I only hear their names now and again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Gerry+Legister">Gerry Legister</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=397277" data-title="A Thing Of Beauty de Gerry Legister" data-description="A thing of beauty fails in the subdue light, 
And before revelation sorrow takes the place
Of the breath of life, with seasons changing swift, 
We follow the flight from beginning to the end.
And find again the heart of another brighter summer, 
D..."></div>
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