The mare of the smith and the children of the shoemaker, allways goes barefooted.
Related quotes
None more bare than the shoemaker's wife and the smith's mare.
A shoemaker's wife and a smith's mare are always the worst shod.
Bones
Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot
Tell you, Dr. Jones—
The most peculiar pain I’m in—
I think it’s in my bones.”
Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith,
That’s nothing. Without doubt
We have a simple cure for that;
It is to take them out.”
He laid forthwith poor Mr. Smith
Close-clamped upon the table,
And, cold as stone, took out his bones
As fast as he was able.
Smith said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,”
And wished him a good-day;
And with his parcel ‘neath his arm
He slowly moved away.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Depression owns me like the devil
Depression you own me like the devil.
You are my master.
To you I do allways fall.
The ball is allways in your court.
You are alwys in control.
Deprssion why do you pick on me?
You can allways bring me to my knees.
You have taken my hart.
And you own my soul.
You stop me at my every goal.
Depression you are like the devil.
You make my life a living hell.
I hate you depression
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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My great Family
My parents are great as god
My brother mean more to me
more than my life.
My family will forever be in my heart
My family is more important than my friends
Family is family
Who allways with me in my happiness
and sadness
My family is allways in front of my Victory
not behind me
My family is who i can fully trust in this world.
my family is secret diary for me.
poem by Neethu Nandakumar
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Please Don't Forget
Please don't forget me
I know I'm not smart
But please don't forget me
I know I'm not pretty
But please don't forget me
I know you have better things to do
But please don't forget me
I know you say you won't
But please don't forget me
I know I allways complan
But please don't forget me
I don't want to be forgotten
I don't want to be pushed away
I know I am asking alot
And I know you want to forget me
But you don't have to love me, hug me or even smile at me
But please don't forget me
poem by Elise Smith
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Long Grey Mare
Written by peter green.
Ive got a long grey mare, she wont let me ride
I got a long grey mare, she wont let me ride
She makes me brush her in the morning
And put her to bed every night
Long grey mare, why cant we be just like before
Long grey mare, why cant we be just like before
We used to ride so hard
Until we just couldnt ride no more
Break:
Look at me grey mare, dont I feed you everyday
Look at me grey mare, dont I feed you everyday
But when I dig you with my spurs
You turn around the other way
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Barefooted Boys
I.
By the sword of St. Michael
The old dragon through;
By David his sling
And the giant he slew;
Let us write us a rhyme,
As a record to tell
How the South on a time
Stormed the ramparts of Hell
With her barefooted boys!
II.
Had the South in her border
A hero to spare,
Or a heart at her altar,
Lo! its life's blood was there!
And the black battle-grime
Might never disguise
The smile of the South
On the lips and the eyes
Of her barefooted boys!
III.
There's a grandeur in fight,
And a terror the while,
But none like the light
Of that terrible smile -
The smile of the South,
When the storm-cloud unrolls
The lightening that loosens
The wrath in the souls
Of her barefooted boys!
IV.
It withered the foe
Like the red light that runs
Through the dead forest leaves,
And he fled from his guns!
Grew the smile to a laugh,
Rose the laugh to a yell.
As the iron-clad hoofs
Clattered back into Hell
From our barefooted boys!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Barefooted Friar
I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,
To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;
But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire,
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.
Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,
And is brought home at even-song bunny'd through with a spear;
I confess him in haste - for his lady desires
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's.
Your monarch? - Pshaw! many a prince has been known
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,
But which of us e'er felt the idle desire
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!
The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone,
The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own;
He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,
For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's.
He's expected at noon, and no wight till he comes
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.
He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot,
They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot,
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,
Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.
Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope;
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briar,
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Mr. Shoemaker's Daughter
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Don't throw my love away.
I'm coming home today.
Hey, mr. green grocer's daughter,
Hey, mr. green grocer's daughter,
Don't turn your head away.
Don't take the sun away.
Every time i see you i wanna say "hey".
But every time you see me you walking away from me.
I've been gone for such a long, long time,
But i'm coming home, gonna make you mine.
Hey, mr. cake baker's daughter,
Hey, mr. bread baker's daughter,
I'm coming home today.
Don't hide the world[?] away.
Every time i see you i wanna say "hey".
But every time you see me you walking away from me.
I've been gone for such a long, long time,
But i'm coming home, gonna make you mine.
How is that fresh morning feeling?
How is the dawn and the evening?
I will be free today.
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
I'll see you soon today.
Hey, mr. dress maker's daughter,
Hey, mr. green seller's daughter,
Don't throw my love away.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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John Smith's Grand National
'I am going to name the child
after that mare, ' the lady says
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Barefooted
I am walking barefooted and naked because,
I have my mind on you;
I am walking barefooted and naked because,
I have my love for you;
But Moab will wail fro Moab.
You are the one that i love and,
Naked and barefooted i do go about daily for you;
But gladness and joy will be taken away very soon from Moab.
Like a carved ivory, you are as fair as the moon;
Like the highlights of the mountains,
You are easily reached up in love than others;
So we need no war around us.
Life is as bright as the sun on the sweet bed of spices,
And true love is like the fragrance of Lebanon;
But like a carved ivory on your love,
This love is sweeter than wine!
A carved ivory,
Of our legs of love and the peace that it brings;
And like the harp of ten strings,
I am like the native green tree of love to your heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Jindgi Ne Lehro
jindgi ni lehro ma bhinajavu 6 mare Pan..
jindgi ni kef ma rachavu tu mare pan...
pan swarth ane samay na aa hisabo na sarvala ma j gunchavayo 6u Aaje..
jya khovayo hato tya sodhu 6u mujane..
pan Aa bhrstachar na dambhi kef ma ranagi gayo 6u...
bus svaas pan har pal meet mandi ne bethi 6 mot ni..
bus
jindgi na Aakhari palo ne to moaj ma rami dau...
bus jara Aam to karto jaav mara pran to beeja na name karto jaav...
jindgi ni lehro ma bhinajavu 6 mare Pan..
jindgi ni kef ma rachavu tu mare pan...
jindagi...
poem by Sandeep Jahaal
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A Little Boy in the Morning
He will not come, and still I wait.
He whistles at another gate
Where angels listen. Ah I know
He will not come, yet if I go
How shall I know he did not pass
barefooted in the flowery grass?
The moon leans on one silver horn
Above the silhouettes of morn,
And from their nest-sills finches whistle
Or stooping pluck the downy thistle.
How is the morn so gay and fair
Without his whistling in its air?
The world is calling, I must go.
How shall I know he did not pass
Barefooted in the shining grass?
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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The Three Strangers
Far are those tranquil hills,
Dyed with fair evening's rose;
On urgent, secret errand bent,
A traveller goes.
Approach him strangers three,
Barefooted, cowled; their eyes
Scan the lone, hastening solitary
With dumb surmise.
One instant in close speech
With them he doth confer:
God-sped, he hasteneth on,
That anxious traveller….
I was that man — in a dream:
And each world's night in vain
I patient wait on sleep to unveil
Those vivid hills again.
Would that they three could know
How yet burns on in me
Love — from one lost in Paradise —
For their grave courtesy.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Dat Ol' Mare O' Mine
Want to trade me, do you, mistah? Oh, well, now, I reckon not,
W'y you could n't buy my Sukey fu' a thousan' on de spot.
Dat ol' mare o' mine?
Yes, huh coat ah long an' shaggy, an' she ain't no shakes to see;
Dat's a ring-bone, yes, you right, suh, an' she got a on'ry knee,
But dey ain't no use in talkin', she de only hoss fu' me,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Co'se, I knows dat Suke 's contra'y, an' she moughty ap' to vex;
But you got to mek erlowance fu' de nature of huh sex;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Ef you pull her on de lef han'; she plum 'termined to go right,
A cannon could n't skeer huh, but she boun' to tek a fright
At a piece o' common paper, or anyt'ing whut's white,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Wen my eyes commence to fail me, dough, I trus'es to huh sight,
An' she 'll tote me safe an' hones' on de ve'y da'kes' night,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Ef I whup huh, she jes' switch huh tail, an' settle to a walk,
Ef I whup huh mo', she shek huh haid, an' lak ez not, she balk.
But huh sense ain't no ways lackin', she do evah t'ing but talk,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
But she gentle ez a lady w'en she know huh beau kin see.
An' she sholy got mo' gumption any day den you or me,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
She's a leetle slow a-goin,' an' she moughty ha'd to sta't,
But we 's gittin' ol' togathah, an' she 's closah to my hea't,
An' I does n't reckon, mistah, dat she 'd sca'cely keer to pa't;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
W'y I knows de time dat cidah 's kin' o' muddled up my haid,
Ef it had n't been fu' Sukey hyeah, I reckon I 'd been daid;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
But she got me in de middle o' de road an' tuk me home,
An' she would n't let me wandah, ner she would n't let me roam,
Dat's de kin' o' hoss to tie to w'en you 's seed de cidah's foam,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
You kin talk erbout yo' heaven, you kin talk erbout yo' hell,
Dey is people, dey is hosses, den dey's cattle, den dey's--well--
Dat ol' mare o' mine;
She de beatenes' t'ing dat evah struck de medders o' de town,
An' aldough huh haid ain't fittin' fu' to waih no golden crown,
D' ain't a blessed way fu' Petah fu' to tu'n my Sukey down,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Someday
Music: michael w. smith
Words:david mullen and michael w. smith
I know there's a prayer flowing from
The longing for the healing to come
Someday no more dark, aching nights
Someday i will open your eyes
The light will come and i will set you free
Sometimes there's a joy in the pain
Sometimes peace that can't be explained
Some find a longing there in their souls
Someday i will make all things whole
I promise to set the children free.
Someday you'll find your place in the sun
Someday when all hearts beat as one
You'll sing with the heart of a child
Someday when the river runs wild
My father comes to set his children free.
Some say it's a vision
Some say it's just a dream
I say it's a promise
A covenant, a destiny
I will come to set my children free.
Someday what the young ones have dreamed
Someday all you've hoped and believed
Will be, you will all understand
The longing placed inside every man
Overcomes the world and sets the children free
And i will come to set my children free.
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Don't Have a Clue how I'm Going to Die
You don't know thisyet but you will soon.
Do you know, Please know this now.
Your duaghter is going to top herself tonight.
She dosen't want you tosave her this time.
But she wants you to know that she's sorry.
Sorry for all the pain she's cuased.
But her life she can no longer bear to live.
Her heart and minfd has spoken to her.
She knew the truth.
She knew she could never be free from her past.
She knew the hurt and pain would always be there.
She knew it was killing her inside.
She knew that she could not fight any more.
She allways knew she'd lose the fight.
And deep down she allways knew,
in her heart that it would come to this.
That it would come to her suiciide.
She just wants youtoknow these things.
She loves you so much.
She couldn't make you watchher like this anymore.
And shesm sorry
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Time for me to slip away
You can scream as loud as you want.
But no one is around to hear you.
You can scream in the face of death.
But they wont find you untill you've breathed you last breath.
And all you can smell is the stench of death.
Empty pill bottles scattered around.
Razors lay by her on the ground.
She allways felt her life was a merry go round.
Did she allways live on a roundabout?
As she lays in her pool of blood.
Life escaping her vains.
Tablets taking their grip.
She hears her family cry in shock.
She tries to say sorry,
but the words cant speak.
As she closes her eyes for the last time.
She says silently I love you all.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Fire Brothers
In the valley where the moons and lovers play live two children who were born on Saturday.
One was dark, one was fair, followed by the hawk, mothered by the mare.
Stranger children you will never see, brothers of the forest and the sea,
One was land, one was air, and they kept the fires burning there.
In a golden vessel and silver vase, kept them burning in the strange enchanted
place,
Kept them burning to the sky, for they knew someday the sun would die
song performed by by Quicksilver Messenger Service
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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