Related quotes
Winter
Winter comes; and our complaints
Grow apace as summer faints,
Waning days grow dull and drear,
Something tells, too well, I fear,
That I've found a germ or two;
Something seems - ee! - ah! Tish-OO.
Subthig certigly does tell
That I'b very far frob weel.
Ad I'b cadging cold, I fear
As the wading days grow near,
Winter cubs; ad our complades
Grow apace as subber fades.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden of Soul
My soul’s garden must grow those plants
And trees and shrubs that yield good fruits;
Sin grows like weeds that stifle growth
Of virtues and more vices grow.
The grace of Almighty God comes
Down on soul’s garden as sun, rain,
As virtues grow in more numbers,
And sin-weeds turn a scarce member.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weeds
In the backyard
Of my heart
I put some seed of love
But weeds grew too fast
Though I used herbicide
But they know how to survive
I threw out the rose, now I love
The weeds for their survival instinct
And power to grow everywhere
Without following any row
My mind follows the heart
And grows too fast like weeds
To pervade to hover
The minds and souls
Of people all over.
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Corn Don't Grow
(Roger Murrah/Mark Alan Springer)
As we sat on the front porch
Of that old grey house where I was born and raised
Starin' at the dusty fields
Where my daddy worked hard every day
I think it kinda hurt him when I said Daddy
There's a lot that I don't know
But don't you ever dream about a life
Where corn don't grow
He just sat there silent
Staring at his favorite coffee cup
I saw a storm of mixed emotion in his eyes
When he looked up
He said Son I know at your age
Seems like this ol' world is turning slow
And you think you'll find the answer to it all
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
You may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
I remember feeling guilty
When Daddy turned and walked back in the house
I was only seventeen back then
But I thought that I knew more than I know now
I can't say he didn't warn me
This city life's a hard row to hoe
Ain't it funny how a dream can turn around
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
And you may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
You may change your mind
Oh the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sorrow Seeks...
Sorrow Seeks...
Sorrow seeks...
Like the roots of weeds
And as the roots grow deeper
the weight descends
Like gnarled hands grasping at your throat
Choking out the beauty within
A dandelion with a face that glows of golden sun
But within the soil it's roots grow so deep
With one pluck you think it is gone for good
Only to return stronger than before
Sorrow seeks...
Like the roots of weeds
4 April 2008
Sweet Content
ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd
To add to golden numbers golden numbers?
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny--hey nonny nonny!
Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O sweet content!
Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O punishment!
Then he that patiently want's burden bears,
No burden bears, but is a king, a king!
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny--hey nonny nonny!
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet- God's The Weed-puller
Despite my sweat and toil with pen and hoe;
My rose-filled garden grows recurrent weeds;
God plans to give me roses all the more;
A small reward for my good thoughts and deeds.
This time, God picks the weeds in His own style;
Each one by Hand with intact roots and stem;
And burns them all thoroughly in a pile;
And plans to give to me the diadem.
The ways of God are strange but never fail;
With woeful hearts, He pines for righteous souls;
I need not fight hereafter by e-mail;
God is plugging the Rodent, Snake, Fox holes.
No more, my garden can grow lethal weeds;
God will provide His honest people's needs.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Garden
CHOKED with ill weeds my garden lay a-dying,
Hard was the ground, no bud had heart to blow,
Yet shone your smile there, with your soft breath sighing:
'Have patience, for some day the flowers will grow.'
Some weeds you killed, you made a plot and tilled it;
'My plot,' you said, 'rich harvest yet shall give,'
With sun-warmed seeds of hope your dear hands filled it,
With rain-soft tears of pity bade them live.
So, weak among the weeds that had withstood you,
One little pure white flower grew by-and-by;
You could not pluck my flower--alas! how should you?
You sowed the seed, but let the blossom die.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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I Lose the Battle
I stand forlorn on the edge of the farm,
Where grow the young plants of deeds,
I see growing, springing the sown corn,
Amid the sticky poisonous trailing weeds.
Yellow sick, pale and frail is the crop,
But the weeds too healthy, too green,
They grow as the demonial desires do,
How should I weed, make the farm clean?
Though they are poisonous yet sweet,
More delicious than the daintier food,
That is why we deceive and we cheat,
And brood them, brood them brood.
To weed them I resolve again and again,
They ripen soon unguarded, unattended,
Without the sunshine and without the rain,
And at last I lose the battle unammended.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Manicured Reality
I agree,
A rose does smells sweet.
But they are not planted
On urban streets to bloom.
They would not be given that opportunity.
Although weeds are encouraged
To grow between the cracks,
Where broken glass settles.
And tourists are re-routed...
To view a revitalized naturalness!
Beautified without the aid of sunglasses,
Or weeds to spoil the experience.
A manicured reality,
Entices those deluded by the goodness
Of life and all it offers!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Art Thou Poor
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O sweet content!
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O punishment!
Then he that patiently want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king:
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have A Friend
I have a friend who reads and reads
And lets his yard grow into weeds.
I said, that's too high to let it grow!
He said, Quoth the raven, "Never mow."
poem by Elizabeth Worthington
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Ill weeds grow the fastest and last the longest.
If you let the weeds grow for a year you will need seven to clear them.
On an exhausted field, only weeds grow.
quote by Henryk Sienkiewicz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Grow Old
I grow old I should feel the cold
I grow old I should have grey hair
I grow old I should sit and stare
I grow old I should have false teeth
I grow old I should have poor sight
I grow old I should forget to write
I grow old I should have aches and pains
I grow old I should 'stroll down memory lane'
I grow old I should walk with a stick
But as I grow old I KICK ASS!
And that's about it!
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little deeds are like little seeds, they grow to flowers or to weeds.
quote by Daniel D. Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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