No matter how often a pitcher goes to the water it is broken in the end.
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No matter how often a pitcher goes to the water, it is broken in the end.
The Thirsty Crow
Have you ever heard this story before?
Of a wise and clever thirsty crow?
Well, if you haven't then listen
The famous tale of this hero, now let's begin,
It happened when in a spell of dry weather,
The poor birds could find very little water,
This crow, when he felt thirsty,
Searched for some water desperately,
But in summer, as it was great famine,
Even a dropp of water he couldn't find,
This unfortunate fellow thought that he must,
In despair surely die of thirst,
Then suddenly he spied an old pitcher,
Filled with very little water,
But oh! The pitcher was so high with a narrow neck,
The little water, the poor crow could never get,
He was unlucky, thought the crow,
His beak couldn't reach the water as it was low,
Then suddenly a brilliant idea flashed into his mind,
Around him some pebbles he could find,
He picked some pebbles and threw into the pitcher,
And finally the water raised its level,
This clever fellow then threw more pebbles
Until the water was higher in the pitcher,
Higher enough for his beak to reach the water,
The thirsty crow now took a sip of water,
Then drank more water from the pitcher,
Until he was no more thirsty,
The genius crow then flew away,
To tell the world about his victory!
poem by Sadia Maqsood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Potters' Clay
Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill
Too oft gets broken at last,
There are scores of others its place to fill
When its earth to the earth is cast ;
Keep that pitcher at home, let it never roam,
But lie like a useless clod,
Yet sooner or later the hour will come
When its chips are thrown to the sod.
Is it wise, then, say, in the waning day,
When the vessel is crack'd and old,
To cherish the battered potter's clay,
As though it were virgin gold ?
Take care of yourself, dull, boorish elf,
Though prudent and safe you seem,
Your pitcher will break on the musty shelf,
And mine by the dazzling stream.
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whether the pitcher strike the stone or the stone the pitcher, the pitcher suffers.
Whether the pitcher strike the stone, or the stone the pitcher, woe be to the pitcher.
Whether the pitcher strikes the stone, or the stone the pitcher, it is bad for the pitcher.
If the pitcher knocks against a stone, woe to the pitcher; and if the stone knocks against the pitcher, woe to the pitcher.
I'm always amazed when a pitcher becomes angry at a hitter for hitting a home run off him. When I strike out, I don't get angry at the pitcher, I get angry at myself. I would think that if a pitcher threw up a home run ball, he should be angry at himself.
quote by Willie Stargell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every great batter works on the theory that the pitcher is more afraid of him than he is of the pitcher.
The pitcher goes often to the well and gets broken at last.
The pitcher goes so often to the well that it is broken at last.
The pitcher goes so often to the well, that it gets broken at last.
The pitcher that goes too often to the well is broken at last.
A pitcher that goes oft to the well is broken at last.
And then when I went to stay in '68, I can honestly say that I was not focused on my career and on what it took to be a major league pitcher and to be a starting pitcher.
quote by Nolan Ryan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The pitcher goes so often to the well that it comes home broken at last.
The Broken Pitcher
It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot, tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo,
Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.
'Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! why sitt'st thou by the spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why dost thou look upon me, with eyes so dark and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?'
'I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way;
And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,
Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell.
'My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is -
A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;
I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke,
But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.
'My uncle, the Alcaydé, he waits for me at home,
And will not take his tumbler, until Zorayda come:
I cannot bring him water - the pitcher is in pieces -
And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces'
'Oh maiden, Moorish maiden! Wilt thou be ruled by me?
Then wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three;
And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,
To carry home the water to thy Uncle, the Alcaydé.'
He lighted down from off his steed line - he tied him to a tree -
He bent him to the maiden, and he took his kisses three;
'To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!'
And he knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his helmet in.
Up rose the Moorish maiden - behind the Knight she steals,
And caught Alphonso Guzman in a twinkling by the heels:
She tipped him in and held him down beneath the bubbling water -
'Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daughter!'
A Christian maid is waiting in the town of Oviedo;
She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Tololedo;
I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell,
How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.
poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The pitcher doth not go so often to the well, but it comes home broken at last.
Splash!
Splashing water, Water get,
Shooting jets, Getting wet,
Crystal Clear, Cool Water,
Water, Water, Water matter,
Water's Life, Water let
Living life, Keep alive.
Water, water, we survive.