Related quotes: February has seven hats.

February has seven hats.

Corsican proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

Hats Off to the Woman, Who…

Hats off to the woman, who bears children
With labor-pains, completing family;
Hats off to the woman, who rears the young,
Making her babies suckle at her breasts;
Hats off to the woman, who tends to both
Husband, children, others with care and love;
Hats off to the woman, who does all things
For others’ sake, selflessly all her life;
Hats off to the woman, who keeps the home,
And raises her children in forbearance;
Hats off to the woman, who labors hard
And burns the midnight-oil for family;
Hats off to the woman, who contributes
Fiscally by working in a work-place;
Hats off to the woman, who patiently
Toils, to keep the harmony of her home;
Hats of to the woman, who can also
Extend tender, loving care to old-aged;
Hats off to the woman, who has God first
In life, and sacrifices for the rest;
Hats off to the woman, who can smile
To all, despite her grief, anguish and strife in heart;
Hats off to the woman, who turns the home
A virtual Paradise on earth all life;
Hats off to the woman, who loves to slog,
And toils to raise her family with love;
Hats off to the woman, who’s an angel
To all, by being a good example.

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hats divide generally into three classes: offensive hats, defensive hats, and shrapnel.

quote by Katharine Whitehorn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh, The Hats At Ascot

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
What a wonderful show on view,
Ladies parading,
Horses invading
The Course, for a race or two.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
With all their bows and frills,
The fantastic styles,
And the Ladies smiles,
Will always give one such thrills.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
An event that is Oh so true,
Just to outshine,
And look divine,
Is what the Ladies do.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
Are way out and so very fine,
And with the Queen,
One must be seen,
As one watches the select equine.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
Seen up and down the Course,
A glass of champers,
And gourmet hampers,
And a win on your favourite horse.

Oh, the hats at Ascot,
Which the Ladies heads do grace,
The Gents black toppers,
And the Champion Show stoppers,
Are all at this fashionable place.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hats

Amy grant/chris eaton
Copyright 1991 age to age music, inc. (ascap)/clouseau music ltd. (prs), adm. by reunion music group, inc.
The sun comes up
The breakfast show
Cant you see me running
Its crazy dont you know?
(dont you know? dont you know? )
The moon is high
Im working through the night
Will somebody tell me
Where do all the hours go?
(I dont know.)
Well it dont stop
No, its never gonna stop
Why do I have to wear so many things on my head?
Hats!
One day Im a mother
One day Im a lover
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best for you.
The water is hot
(so hot)
The phone dont stop
(hello, good-bye)
So how do I manage
To hold on to my sanity
(I dont know, baby, I dont know)
The red dress on
Time for having fun
(time for having fun)
But can I really be
The girl you see in me?
The spirit is willing
But the flesh is weak
Why do I have to wear so many things on my head?
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best for you.
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
All because Im driven
To be the very best for you.
This may be a dream come true
This may be poetry in motion
This may be a dream come true
But when it all come down
Its an awful lot to do.
Hats!
It dont stop
Why do I have to wear thing on my head?
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best for you.
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
All because Im driven
To be the very best,
Very best (nah, nah, nah).
Hats!
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best
It dont stop
No, its never gonna stop
Why do I have to wear
Why to I have to wear
Hats!
One day Im a mother
One day Im a lover
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
All because Im driven
To be the very best for you.

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Beret

Life is sometimes shorter than you think
So take yourself a hike from the kitchen sink
Me, I like to roam
Wasnt built in a day
And night throws the stars in our way
Meanwhile on planet earth
Some people are dying for the right to say
Some people are dying cause the other people busy blowing them away
Well, were all dying so we better have a ton of fun along the way
I say hats off, get your hats off, take your hats off, get your hats off
For the blue beret
Blue beret, blue beret
The wind has blown it off his head
And sent it spinning straight to nowhere
Nowhere to get ahead in this life
Life is sometimes longer than you need
Especially if its thrown away on hate and greed
Well, me I like to think while the other fish swim
But sharks made a meal out of him
Meanwhile on bone dry land
Some people are dying for the right to say
Some people just want the right to say
Some people are dying cause the other people busy blowing them away
Some people are merely blown away
Well, were all dying so we better have a ton of fun along the way
I say hats off, take your hats off, get your hats off, take your hats off
To the blue beret
Blue beret, blue beret
The wind has blown it off his head
And sent it spinning straight to nowhere
Nowhere to get ahead in this life
So just love your dog and dont kick your wife
Put down that knife, watch out the windows,
And blow your hat away

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Beret

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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February Has Returned To Normal

After a week of summer sun
February returned to normal.
Grey skies to the horizon
and a light falling rain.
It is the February
that we all know so well,
and the sunshine
while it lasted
was an unexpected bonus to us all.

15 February 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hats Off

When I was born, the doc he held me by my ankles
Smacked my red behind.
They hosed me down, wrapped me like a bean burrito
Then marked the date and time.
Hats off, to the ones that string the beads together
And keep the ducks in line.
Hats off to all the ones that stood before me
And taught a fool to rhyme.
At thirteen, I made myself a motion picture
Out of lumps of clay.
At fourteen, I pulled some weeds and bought a four string
Taught myself to play.
At seventeen, Id get naked with a beauty queen
At the hot tub zone.
At nineteen, she was livin hard and snortin drugs
That decayed her bones.
Hats off to the ones that put it all together
And keep their ducks in line.
Hats off to all the ones that erred before me
And taught me how to survive.

song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brothels Freshly Painted

Pins like needles used,
Will stick and prick.
As they sit in hats
Worn by witches
To keep them holding on...
To hair bouffanted and thick!
Used they were to keep men in line.
In those times when sex...
Was not considered done
To get another one sick,
Of it!
And when men had 'itches'
Approached women wearing hats.
They made sure they had manners.
Wishing to get their pricks exclusively...
Inside.
With or without hats.

That's how it was done...
In brothels freshly painted!
Not tainted like the trash today,
Found anytime on Hollywood and Vine!
And...
After passing up renovated garbage,
On 42nd and 8th Avenue!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Govt. Health Warning.

'I'm terrified of cheese, ' he said,
'And rather scared of hats, '
'The cheese will make me sneeze,
You see, and hats just drive me bats! '

The doctor gave a little smile,
'I've news for you! ' he said,
'Tonight you'll eat some Irish stew,
Tomorrow you'll be dead! '

'Beware of gorgonzola!
Beware of Danish Blue!
Beware of wearing hats at all!
Beware of Irish stew! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Hats

Here the hats that hasten the act
Climb on heads for the wearing.
To be quick the attire is solved
For thinkers have hats too sound.
To be round and sensible is fitting
But when fondness is attached
The fortune of a man with more thinking
To do is that of the old hat.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Hats Off

The stage is set tonight down in Nashville
It's been a long, hard ride into town
And thanks to some cowboys and heros
My chance to sing has finally come around
The first song I ever sang was haggard
Momma sang to me I saw the Light
I'd turn my radio up louder
To hear Johnny Cash walk the line
Waylon sang a song about Texas
Willie's "Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain"
Bocephus sings a song about dixie.
Lefty taught us all how to sing.
Hats off to hard riding cowboys
Riding some where tonight
Hats off to hard riding cowboys
Wanted, dead or alive
Charlie ran the devil out of Georgia
Skynyrd sang sweet home Alabam
The Ahlman brothers taught us how to ramble
And to Tucker boys showed us how to jam.
Hats off to hard riding cowboys
Riding some where tonight
Hats off to hard riding cowboys
Wanted, dead or alive
The stage is set tonight up in Heaven
Rebas band is there with Patsy Cline
And all around are cowboys and cowgirls
And thanks to them the music's still alive
Hats off to hard riding cowboys
Flying somewhere tonight
Hats off to hard fighting cowboys
Wanted, dead or alive
Hats off to hard riding cowboys
Flying somewhere tonight
Hats off to hard fighting cowboys
Wanted, dead or alive

song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valentine Comp Poem 2

The heart shaped card with pretty words
Be my Valentine, my dear
Is there because the poor old man
Knows if the old lady doesn’t get one
She’ll box his blinkin’ ears

9 February 1992

Author’s Note:

This little poem was read out on radio between 10 February and 13 February and won a box of heart shaped chocolates for my lady fair.

poem by David Harris
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Hats Are Heights

Hats are heights,
What trouble is in the cap of danger?
Hats must be worn like helmets,
Torn to shreds by the bullets that animals roar,
Like the lions of deadly nature, who fix their stare
On the lonely travellers, their survival is to be sought.
Lions are visions of the crown and kingdom,
How does a hat called a crown be called a kingdom?
Because the kings are great and ordinary with wisdom,
Loathing them will wisely conduct a thought,
Admiring them shall see you riches, this is more polite.
Hats have heights too secretly huge,
May I provoke sympathy?

poem by Naveed Akram
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A Sunny Day In February

I stood by my car and looked down
at the still waters of the small lake below.
Several anglers with their rods cast
sat on small chairs along the lake bank.
Sheep grazed in a field
with not a care in the world,
on a sunny day in February.
The blue sky seemed
to stretch forever everywhere.
Peace drifted across everything
that was there
on this sunny day in February
at the farm I go to.

9 February 2008

poem by David Harris
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Second Sunday...

february is fickle
one gets inside a room, closes the door,
and spreads the mat and
turns off the light, but february does not
sleep, it boasts of love
till dawn,
there is an exit door at the left side
of the room
covered by a waterfall and
the sound of
birds mating, you know, calls, like that,

somehow, february is fun,
funny, makes the hearts of lonely people beat again,
dances under the moon,
begins to love again the rain at midnight
plucking rusty guitar strings
and kissing moonbeams
passionate as the
night blanketing the tall trees
erect to the
cold.

i like february, but i have none
for now.
the second sunday may prove
myself wrong,

she is coming, literally.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hooray February!

I love February
because it’s a brewery
of chilly winter
and sunny warmth.

I love February
because it isn’t a cocky first;
but only a modest next
like how I always prefer
taking a second row chair.
Likewise my car, hello,
is not a Uno, but an Alto!

I love February
because it’s the baby
of the promising January.
And with that promise
February bears March
with all its vernal vibrancy.

I love water, aqua:
It’s the spring of life.
I love February
because I am an Aquarian.

I love February
because the holy water eponymous
purifies me and makes me vigorous
a la
Februa
the great Roman festival.

I love February
because it’s doughty,
has the will to survive:
From a long monthless limbo
to the twelfth place
then to the second
in the calendar -
it was a saga of freedom fight
in the hoary history of time.

I love February
because it’s a month of lovely violets
of diverse hues and scents galore
and
of amethysts that keep you sober.

I love February
because it’s the one month
that determines the leap
or otherwise of a year
shortie it is though.

They malign February as ‘hollow’ and ominous.
Don’t fib, I reply, it is ‘full’ and luminous:
I work for twenty eight
and get paid for thirty one.
Then isn’t it ‘full’?

No triskaidekaphobe,
I love the thirteenth
for it symbolises
the eternal crusade
against superstition
and discrimination.

God loves it too
for He has made the date
a rendezvous
of countless events
no less happy than any other.

I love Feb thirteenth
because I came into this world
on that unique date.
For me it’s always the first.

In their nineties and seventies
still going strong
on me shower my parents
a golden pot of blessings full.

Long live Februarians!
Long live humanitarians!

[Feb 11,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]

poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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To-Morrow

When you’re suffering hard for your sins, old man,
When you wake to trouble and sleep ill—
Oh, this is the clack of the middle class,
‘Win back the respect of the people!’
You are weak, you’re a fool, or a drunken brute
When you’re deep in trouble and sorrow;
But walk down the street in a decent suit,
And their hats will be off to-morrow! Old Chap—
And their hats will be off to-morrow!
They cant and they cackle—‘Redeem the Past!’
Who never had past worth redeeming:
Your soul seems dead, but you’ll find at last
That somewhere your soul lay dreaming.
You may stagger down-hill in a beer-stained coat,
You may loaf, you may cadge and borrow—
But walk down the street with a ten-pound note
And their hats will be off to-morrow! Old Man—
Yes, their hats will be off to-morrow!

But stick to it, man! for your old self’s sake,
Though to brood on the past is human;
Hold up for the sake of the mate who was true,
And the sake of the Other Woman.
And as for the rest, you may take off your hat
And banish all signs of sorrow;
You may take their hands, but in spite of that,
Can they win your respect to-morrow? Old Man—
Can they win your respect to-morrow?

poem by Henry Lawson
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February Girl

Her leaves can not crumble
But the earth is telling her to tremble
She can not listen
And will not hear
The sickness is keeping her still

February girl
Winter comes and goes
She wonders will it kill
Flowers grow
She prays for the sun to show

That February girl
Winter is here and she hates the snow
Chilled to the bone
Oh how she hates the snow

Put on your winter coat
She wishes to be a oak and not a willow
Oh February girl
Winter will soon go.

poem by Cassanndra King
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Odd Hats, Summer Dresses

Old summer hats lie on the floor,
funeral hats, hats in hat boxes,
some still on hat stands
and one left discarded on a chair.

Her summer dresses, still fragrant
from perfumes she wore,
hang limply now, on hangers
as though they are waiting for her.

I view her dressing table, its little pots,
one for her wedding rings,
one for her broaches,
and one for her powder puff.

Her chair's empty but askew
as though she'd just gotten up.
Strange to see it like that
and look into the mirror above.

A mirror that should reflect her,
her, with her lips all pursed
waiting for their lipstick,
red or pink and then a smile.

Here's her broken watch; I hold it,
put it on my wrist
hoping its band is still
warm from her skin but it's not.

Desperate, I try to mend it,
I shake it, fiddle with it.
Somehow, if I could just make it tick,
but she's gone and the watch is broken

poem by Ruth Walters
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

Related quotes

Hats Off to the Woman, Who…

Oh, The Hats At Ascot

Hats

Blue Beret

Blue Beret

February Has Returned To Normal

Hats Off

Brothels Freshly Painted

Govt. Health Warning.

The Hats

Hats Off

Valentine Comp Poem 2

Hats Are Heights

A Sunny Day In February

Second Sunday...

Hooray February!

To-Morrow

February Girl

Odd Hats, Summer Dresses

En.Citatepedia^®.ro