The Borough. Letter XIII: The Alms-House And Trustees
LEAVE now our streets, and in yon plain behold
Those pleasant Seats for the reduced and old;
A merchant's gift, whose wife and children died,
When he to saving all his powers applied;
He wore his coat till bare was every thread,
And with the meanest fare his body fed.
He had a female cousin, who with care
Walk'd in his steps, and learn'd of him to spare;
With emulation and success they strove,
Improving still, still seeking to improve,
As if that useful knowledge they would gain -
How little food would human life sustain:
No pauper came their table's crumbs to crave;
Scraping they lived, but not a scrap they gave:
When beggars saw the frugal Merchant pass,
It moved their pity, and they said, 'Alas!
Hard is thy fate my brother,' and they felt
A beggar's pride as they that pity dealt.
The dogs, who learn of man to scorn the poor,
Bark'd him away from every decent door;
While they who saw him bare, but thought him rich,
To show respect or scorn, they knew not which.
But while our Merchant seemed so base and mean,
He had his wanderings, sometimes 'not unseen;'
To give in secret was a favourite act,
Yet more than once they took him in the fact
To scenes of various woe he nightly went,
And serious sums in healing misery spent;
Oft has he cheer'd the wretched at a rate
For which he daily might have dined on plate;
He has been seen--his hair all silver-white,
Shaking and shining--as he stole by night,
To feed unenvied on his still delight.
A twofold taste he had; to give and spare,
Both were his duties, and had equal care;
It was his joy to sit alone and fast,
Then send a widow and her boys repast:
Tears in his eyes would spite of him appear,
But he from other eyes has kept the tear:
All in a wint'ry night from far he came,
To soothe the sorrows of a suffering dame;
Whose husband robb'd him, and to whom he meant
A ling'ring, but reforming punishment:
Home then he walked, and found his anger rise
When fire and rushlight met his troubled eyes;
But these extinguish'd, and his prayer address'd
To Heaven in hope, he calmly sank to rest.
His seventieth year was pass'd and then was seen
A building rising on the northern green;
There was no blinding all his neighbours' eyes,
Or surely no one would have seen it rise:
Twelve rooms contiguous stood, and six were near,
There men were placed, and sober matrons here:
There were behind small useful gardens made,
Benches before, and trees to give them shade;
In the first room were seen above, below,
Some marks of taste, a few attempts at show.
The founder's picture and his arms were there
(Not till he left us), and an elbow'd chair;
There, 'mid these signs of his superior place,
Sat the mild ruler of this humble race.
Within the row are men who strove in vain,
Through years of trouble, wealth and ease to gain;
Less must they have than an appointed sum,
And freemen been, or hither must not come;
They should be decent, and command respect,
(Though needing fortune), whom these doors protect,
And should for thirty dismal years have tried
For peace unfelt and competence denied.
Strange! that o'er men thus train'd in sorrow's
school,
Power must be held, and they must live by rule;
Infirm, corrected by misfortunes, old,
Their habits settled and their passions cold;
Of health, wealth, power, and worldly cares bereft,
Still must they not at liberty be left;
There must be one to rule them, to restrain
And guide the movements of his erring train.
If then control imperious, check severe,
Be needed where such reverend men appear;
To what would youth, without such checks, aspire,
Free the wild wish, uncurb'd the strong desire?
And where (in college or in camp) they found
The heart ungovern'd and the hand unbound?
His house endow'd, the generous man resign'd
All power to rule, nay power of choice declined;
He and the female saint survived to view
Their work complete, and bade the world adieu!
Six are the Guardians of this happy seat,
And one presides when they on business meet;
As each expires, the five a brother choose;
Nor would Sir Denys Brand the charge refuse;
True, 'twas beneath him, 'but to do men good
Was motive never by his heart withstood:'
He too is gone, and they again must strive
To find a man in whom his gifts survive.
Now, in the various records of the dead,
Thy worth, Sir Denys, shall be weigh'd and read;
There we the glory of thy house shall trace,
With each alliance of thy noble race.
Yes! here we have him!--'Came in William's
reign,
The Norman Brand; the blood without a stain;
From the fierce Dane and ruder Saxon clear,
Pict, Irish, Scot, or Cambrian mountaineer:
But the pure Norman was the sacred spring,
And he, Sir Denys, was in heart a king:
Erect in person and so firm in soul,
Fortune he seem'd to govern and control:
Generous as he who gives his all away,
Prudent as one who toils for weekly pay;
In him all merits were decreed to meet,
Sincere though cautious, frank and yet discreet,
Just all his dealings, faithful every word,
His passions' master, and his temper's lord.'
Yet more, kind dealers in decaying fame?
His magnanimity you next proclaim;
You give him learning, join'd with sound good
sense,
And match his wealth with his benevolence;
What hides the multitude of sins, you add,
Yet seem to doubt if sins he ever had.
Poor honest Truth! thou writ'st of living men,
And art a railer and detractor then;
They die, again to be described, and now
A foe to merit and mankind art thou!
Why banish Truth? It injures not the dead,
It aids not them with flattery to be fed;
And when mankind such perfect pictures view,
They copy less, the more they think them true.
Let us a mortal as he was behold,
And see the dross adhering to the gold;
When we the errors of the virtuous state,
Then erring men their worth may emulate.
View then this picture of a noble mind,
Let him be wise, magnanimous, and kind;
What was the wisdom? Was it not the frown
That keeps all question, all inquiry down?
His words were powerful and decisive all,
But his slow reasons came for no man's call.
''Tis thus,' he cried, no doubt with kind intent,
To give results and spare all argument: -
'Let it be spared--all men at least agree
Sir Denys Brand had magnanimity:
His were no vulgar charities; none saw
Him like the Merchant to the hut withdraw;
He left to meaner minds the simple deed,
By which the houseless rest, the hungry feed
His was a public bounty vast and grand,
'Twas not in him to work with viewless hand;
He raised the Room that towers above the street,
A public room where grateful parties meet;
He first the Life-boat plann'd; to him the place
Is deep in debt--'twas he revived the Race;
To every public act this hearty friend
Would give with freedom or with frankness lend;
His money built the Jail, nor prisoner yet
Sits at his ease, but he must feel the debt;
To these let candour add his vast display;
Around his mansion all is grand and gay,
And this is bounty with the name of pay.'
I grant the whole, nor from one deed retract,
But wish recorded too the private act:
All these were great, but still our hearts approve
Those simpler tokens of the Christian love;
'Twould give me joy some gracious deed to meet
That has not call'd for glory through the street:
Who felt for many, could not always shun,
In some soft moment, to be kind to one;
And yet they tell us, when Sir Denys died,
That not a widow in the Borough sigh'd;
Great were his gifts, his mighty heart I own,
But why describe what all the world has known?
The rest is petty pride, the useless art
Of a vain mind to hide a swelling heart:
Small was his private room: men found him there
By a plain table, on a paltry chair;
A wretched floor-cloth, and some prints around,
The easy purchase of a single pound:
These humble trifles and that study small
Make a strong contrast with the servants' hall;
There barely comfort, here a proud excess,
The pompous seat of pamper'd idleness,
Where the sleek rogues with one consent declare,
They would not live upon his honour's fare;
He daily took but one half hour to dine,
On one poor dish and some three sips of wine;
Then he'd abuse them for their sumptuous feasts,
And say, 'My friends! you make yourselves like
beasts;
One dish suffices any man to dine,
But you are greedy as a herd of swine;
Learn to be temperate.'--Had they dared t'obey,
He would have praised and turn'd them all away.
Friends met Sir Denys riding in his ground,
And there the meekness of his spirit found:
For that gray coat, not new for many a year,
Hides all that would like decent dress appear;
An old brown pony 'twas his will to ride,
Who shuffled onward, and from side to side;
A five-pound purchase, but so fat and sleek,
His very plenty made the creature weak.
'Sir Denys Brand! and on so poor a steed!'
'Poor! it may be--such things I never heed:'
And who that youth behind, of pleasant mien,
Equipped as one who wishes to be seen,
Upon a horse, twice victor for a plate,
A noble hunter, bought at dearest rate? -
Him the lad fearing yet resolved to guide,
He curbs his spirit while he strokes his pride.
'A handsome youth, Sir Denys; and a horse
Of finer figure never trod the course, -
Yours, without question?'--'Yes! I think a groom
Bought me the beast; I cannot say the sum
I ride him not; it is a foolish pride
Men have in cattle--but my people ride;
The boy is--hark ye, sirrah! what's your name?
Ay, Jacob, yes! I recollect--the same;
As I bethink me now, a tenant's son -
I think a tenant,--is your father one?'
There was an idle boy who ran about,
And found his master's humble spirit out;
He would at awful distance snatch a look,
Then run away and hide him in some nook;
'For oh!' quoth he, 'I dare not fix my sight
On him, his grandeur puts me in a fright;
Oh! Mister Jacob, when you wait on him,
Do you not quake and tremble every limb?'
The Steward soon had orders--'Summers, see
That Sam be clothed, and let him wait on me.'
---------------------
Sir Denys died, bequeathing all affairs
In trust to Laughton's long-experienced cares;
Before a Guardian, and Sir Denys dead,
All rule and power devolved upon his head,
Numbers are call'd to govern, but in fact
Only the powerful and assuming act.
Laughton, too wise to be a dupe to fame,
Cared not a whit of what descent he came,
Till he was rich; he then conceived the thought
To fish for pedigree, but never caught:
All his desire, when he was young and poor,
Was to advance; he never cared for more:
'Let me buy, sell, be factor, take a wife,
Take any road, to get along in life.'
Was he a miser then? a robber? foe
To those who trusted? a deceiver?--No!
He was ambitious; all his powers of mind
Were to one end controll'd, improved, combined;
Wit, learning, judgment, were, by his account,
Steps for the ladder he design'd to mount;
Such step was money: wealth was but his slave,
For power he gain'd it, and for power he gave:
Full well the Borough knows that he'd the art
Of bringing money to the surest mart;
Friends too were aids,--they led to certain ends,
Increase of power and claim on other friends.
A favourite step was marriage: then he gain'd
Seat in our Hall, and o'er his party reign'd;
Houses and land he bought, and long'd to buy,
But never drew the springs of purchase dry,
And thus at last they answer'd every call,
The failing found him ready for their fall:
He walks along the street, the mart, the quay,
And looks and mutters, 'This belongs to me.'
His passions all partook the general bent;
Interest inform'd him when he should resent,
How long resist, and on what terms relent:
In points where he determined to succeed,
In vain might reason or compassion plead;
But gain'd his point, he was the best of men,
'Twas loss of time to be vexatious then:
Hence he was mild to all men whom he led,
Of all who dared resist, the scourge and dread.
Falsehood in him was not the useless lie
Of boasting pride or laughing vanity:
It was the gainful, the persuading art,
That made its way and won the doubting heart,
Which argued, soften'd, humbled, and prevail'd,
Nor was it tried till ev'ry truth had fail'd;
No sage on earth could more than he despise
Degrading, poor, unprofitable lies.
Though fond of gain, and grieved by wanton
waste,
To social parties he had no distaste;
With one presiding purpose in his view,
He sometimes could descend to trifle too!
Yet, in these moments, he had still the art
To ope the looks and close the guarded heart;
And, like the public host, has sometimes made
A grand repast, for which the guests have paid.
At length, with power endued and wealthy grown,
Frailties and passions, long suppress'd, were
shown:
Then to provoke him was a dangerous thing,
His pride would punish, and his temper sting;
His powerful hatred sought th' avenging hour,
And his proud vengeance struck with all his power,
Save when th' offender took a prudent way
The rising storm of fury to allay:
This might he do, and so in safety sleep,
By largely casting to the angry deep;
Or, better yet (its swelling force t'assuage),
By pouring oil of flattery on its rage.
And now, of all the heart approved, possess'd,
Fear'd, favour'd, follow'd, dreaded, and caress'd,
He gently yields to one mellifluous joy,
The only sweet that is not found to cloy,
Bland adulation!--other pleasures pall
On the sick taste, and transient are they all;
But this one sweet has such enchanting power,
The more we take, the faster we devour:
Nauseous to those who must the dose apply,
And most disgusting to the standers-by;
Yet in all companies will Laughton feed,
Nor care how grossly men perform the deed.
As gapes the nursling, or, what comes more near,
Some Friendly-Island chief, for hourly cheer;
When wives and slaves, attending round his seat,
Prepare by turns the masticated meat;
So for this master, husband, parent, friend,
His ready slaves their various efforts blend,
And, to their lord still eagerly inclined,
Pour the crude trash of a dependent mind.
But let the Muse assign the man his due,
Worth he possess'd, nor were his virtues few: -
He sometimes help'd the injured in their cause;
His power and purse have back'd the failing laws;
He for religion has a due respect,
And all his serious notions, are correct;
Although he pray'd and languish'd for a son,
He grew resign'd when Heaven denied him one;
He never to this quiet mansion sends
Subject unfit, in compliment to friends;
Not so Sir Denys, who would yet protest
He always chose the worthiest and the best:
Not men in trade by various loss brought down,
But those whose glory once amazed the town,
Who their last guinea in their pleasures spent,
Yet never fell so low as to repent:
To these his pity he could largely deal,
Wealth they had known, and therefore want could
feel.
Three seats were vacant while Sir Denys reign'd,
And three such favourites their admission gain'd;
These let us view, still more to understand
The moral feelings of Sir Denys Brand.
poem by George Crabbe
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being alone. My wife gave me two children, both of whom, of course,
no longer live with us, as was to be expected, as we in our youth left
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Pink Coat
The pink coat
She put on when it was cold
The pink coat
That was hung up when she was home
The pink coat
That kept her warm
The pink coat
That witnessed her first cut
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She wore when she was crying
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Plain Gold Ring
Earl s. burroughs
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
It was where everyone could see
He belonged to someone, but not me
On his hand was a plain gold band
Plain gold ring has a story to tell
It was one that I knew too well
In my heart it will never be spring
Long as he wears a plain gold ring
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Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the House, Republican prospects have been buoyed by several successful rounds of redistricting, which have sharply reduced the number of competitive seats and given the Republicans a national advantage of at least a dozen seats.
quote by Thomas E. Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pink Carnation
I may walk until I’m fainting, I may write until I’m blinded,
I might drink until my back teeth are afloat,
But I can’t forget my ruin and the happy days behind it,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.
Oh, I thought that time could conquer, and I thought my heart would harden,
But it sends a sudden lump into my throat,
When I think of what I have been, and the cottage and the garden,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.
God forgive you, girl, and bless you! Let no line of mine distress you –
I am sorry for the bitter lines I wrote;
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When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Agony of the old
Had I died as a lad, my parents would have wept.
Had I died as a man, my children and wife would have wept.
Had I died ere my wife, my wife would have wept.
A widower, an invalid, a cumbersome,
When I die who will have wept?
28.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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If I Had The Gift To Inspire You With Heroic Words
If I had the gift to inspire you with heroic words
I would tell you that I do not fear death
And that against Time and its ruins
I will stand strong to the end-
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poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dispossesion
My coat, leave behind my coat and my belt,
Leave behind my coat and all that,
I don't want it back...
It's called undertown and it's over that way.
Some people leave in the morning,
Some people when they go to bed.
Inside, it's been rotting for a long time now,
Ever since I found out
I? not to blame if I get left out.
My coat, leave behind the looks, magazines and books.
Don't want it back.
We're going away, we're dropping the lot.
We'll take another tack if we ever get stopped.
It's the last plan we made before we came unglued.
Everything I touch is on the blink.
Gotta find a place to land, find a place to think.
Who are you people?
song performed by by Nada Surf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 05 On Love And Youth Story 15
The beautiful wife of a man died but her mother, a decrepit old hag, remained in the house on account of the dowry. The man saw no means of escaping from contact with her until a company of friends paid him a visit of condolence and one of them asked him how he bore the loss of his beloved. He replied: ‘It is not as painful not to see my wife as to see the mother of my wife.’
The rose has been destroyed and the thorn remained.
The treasure has been taken and the serpent left.
It is better that one’s eye be fixed on a spear-head
Than that it should behold the face of an enemy.
It is incumbent to sever connection with a thousand friends
Rather than to behold a single foe.
We Are More Alike Than Unalike
Let the gong-gong ring through
The living rooms of Canada Singapore New Zealand
Russia India El Salvador Poland China Botswana Switzerland
England Papua New Guinea Brazil South Africa
Japan Australia Ireland France Vietnam America…
Let the gong-gong bring first
THE CHILDREN: Their seats are Ready!
Let the gong-gong bring first
THE CHILDREN from Thailand Italy Saudi Arabia The Beloved Country
The Hope The Land of Two Rivers Sao Tome &
Principe Seychelles Equatorial Guinea St Christopher and Nevis Kiribati
THE CHILDREN: Their seats are Ready!
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Kuala Lumpur Tel Aviv Lisbon Windhoek Abuja…
Let the gong-gong bring first
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Come all you children of the world
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Come all you children and take your seats
Grandee Maya Angelou
Wanna tell you a Storyline: We are More Alike than Unalike!
poem by Gabriel Eshun
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Were did magic go! ? ! ? ! ? !
When I realized that magic had died, I begin to cry
The loss of imagination,
The loss of that witch we did not know,
Now science has lain you down,
Never to rise,
Except in the hearts of those who believe,
Those who don’t know,
To them you are reality,
Until the man in the lab coat proves you wrong,
The freedom that we felt is gone,
Our mortality has sunk in,
There is no way to see our dead ones,
The man in the lab coat killed our dreams,
Never to rise again,
As we grow, our children ask of magic,
We let them believe,
We let the hold on to their imagination,
Until the man in the lab coat comes,
He kills their dreams,
As he did to us,
We feel sorrow, detachment and longing
When we remember the day magic died to us
And then we sleep,
The one and only place magic is real!
copyrights 2008: Dustin J. Ross
poem by Dustin Ross
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Coat Of Many Colors
(dolly parton)
Back through the years I go wondering once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
And how my mamma put these rags to use
There were rags of many colours, and every piece was small
And I didnt have a coat and it was way down in the fall
Mamma sewed the rags together, sewing ever piece with love
She made my coat of many colours, that I was so proud of
As she sewed she told the story from the Bible she had read
About a coat of many colours, joseph wore and they she said
Perhaps this coat will bring you, much love and happiness
And I just couldnt wait to wear it, and mamma blessed it with a kiss
My coat of many colours that mamma made for me
Made only rags, but I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money. oh I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
So with patches on my breaches and holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colours, I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing and makin fun of me
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
Oh, I couldnt understand it, for I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love my mamma sewed in ever stitch
And I told them all the story, mamma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colours is worth more than all of their clothes
They didnt under stand it and I tried to make them see
That one is only poor only if they choose to be
Now I know we have no money, but Im as rich as I could be
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
In my coat of many colours, my mamma just made for me
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coat Of Many Colors
Back through the years
I go wandering once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall the box of rags
Someone gave us
And how my mama put the rags to use
There were rags of many colors
Every piece was small
And I didnt have a coat
And it was away down in the fall
Mama sewed the rags together
So in every piece with luck
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of
As she sewed, she told a story
From the Bible she had read
About a coat of many colors joseph wore
And then she said,
Perhaps this coat
Will bring you good luck and happiness
And I just couldnt wait to wear it
And my mama blessed it with a kiss
My coat of many colors
That my mama made for me
Made only from rags
That I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
Well, I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
In my coat of many colors
My mama made for me
And no, I couldnt understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them all the story
Mama told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes
But they didnt understand it
And I tried to make them see
But one is only poor
Only if he chooses to be.
Now I know we had no money
In my coat of many colors
My mama made for me
Made just for me
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dublin
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
Och aye, the blarney blunderbuss,
He's corked, and who's to blame?
'Tain't that his wee son with a pint,
Too soon to walk the same?
Across Ha'penny Bridge his Molly
Bends to scratch for coal,
And one last fire to celebrate:
Today she quits the dole.
But what of Barry? What of Shane?
Who'll give the tykes their bread,
With Pap in one dyke stone-cold drunk,
In the other Mam stone-cold dead?
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
And the children died
And the children died.
Our children kept dying.
Then our childrens child
picked up the struggle,
and they died.
Whether in Belfast, palestine, chile,
or Iraq. They, our children died.
When moneyed powered barons
enjoin to force their farce of alien
thoughts upon a righteous people
our children die.
They, our children continued to fight
and to die.Their bodies piled up.
Sorrow became our life, the blood from
their wounds glistens always in our eyes,
and they our children fight.
Whilst we listen to politicans imploring
us to accept their just peace.
And the children died...
WHY
poem by Johnoe Mc Guckin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coat Of Many Colors
back through the yearsi go wondering once again
back to the seasons of my youth
i recall a box of rags that someone gave us
and how my momma put the rags to use
there were rags of many colors and every piece was small
and i didn't have a coat and it was way down in the fall
momma sewed the rags together sewing every piece with love she made my coat of many colors that i was so proud of
as she sewed she told a story from the bible she had read
about a coat of many colors Josheph wore and then she said
perhaps this coat will bring you good luck and happiness
and i just couldn't wait to wear it and momma blessed it with a kiss
my coat of many colors that my momma made for me
made only from rags but i wore it so proudly
i know we had money but i was rich as i could be in my coat of many colors
my momma made for me
so with patches on my britiches holes in both my shoes
in my coat of many colors i hurried off to school
just to find the others laughing and a making fun of me
in my coat of many colors my momma made for me
and oh i couldn't understand for i felt i was rich
and i told them all the love my momma sewed in every stich
and i told them all the story momma told me while she sewed
and how my coat of many colors was worth more than all their clothes
but they didn't understand and i tried to make them see
one is only poor only if they choose to be
now i know we have no money but i was rich as i could be
in my coat of many colors momma made for me
made just for me
song performed by by Shania Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is fear as to whether Japan, reduced to such a predicament, could ever manage to pay reparations to certain designated Allied Powers without shifting the burden upon the other Allied Powers.
quote by Shigeru Yoshida
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coat Of Many Colors
Back through the years
I go wonderin once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
And how my momma put the rags to use
There were rags of many colors
Every piece was small
And I didnt have a coat
And it was way down in the fall
Momma sewed the rags together
Sewin every piece with love
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of
As she sewed, she told a story
From the bible, she had read
About a coat of many colors
Joseph wore and then she said
Perhaps this coat will bring you
Good luck and happiness
And I just couldnt wait to wear it
And momma blessed it with a kiss
Chorus:
My coat of many colors
That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
So with patches on my britches
Holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
And oh I couldnt understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love
My momma sewed in every stitch
And I told em all the story
Momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes
But they didnt understand it
And I tried to make them see
That one is only poor
Only if they choose to be
Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
Made just for me
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morningside
Written by: neil diamond
Morningside
The old man died
And no one cried
They simply turned away
And when he died
He left a table made of nails and pride
And with his hands he carved these words inside
For my children
Morning light
Morning bright
I spent the night
With dreams that make you weep
Morning time
Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine
For I recall the words the old man signed
For my children
And the legs were shaped with his hands
And the top made of oaken wood
And the children sat around this table
Touched with their laughter
Ah, and that was good
Morningside
An old man died
And no one cried
He surely died alone
And truth is sad
For not a child would claim the gift he had
The words he carved became his epitath
For my children
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the river
~
Another day has dawned
The skies an overcast grey
I pull on my boots and coat
Just to get out of my own way
Through streets walking
Without purpose or conversation
To the river I go
To the river I shall gift my soul
Like the poet, taught me to love
I shall be writ to water
Flowing effortless and free
Stripped the control of thought
Leaving myself behind
To the river I shall go
To the river I gift my soul
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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