En.Citatepedia^®.ro

In You I Find The Beginning Of Each New Day

In you I find the beginning of each new day,
like the early wind rustling through the trees,
you come constantly, visiting me with happiness
like the first golden rays of sunshine bringing light

giving a kind of freedom to our love,
that rises as if with wings up into the blue,
while in your absence comes a starless night
without any tranquillity or kind of rest.

Your voice has a sparkle to it that out sing
the many birds, even the rustling sad wind
and I am lost in the depths of your words,
when in loveliness you hit some high notes.

You draw people to you like a mother hen,
with nostalgic, longing voices yearning for your joy
are like a road that I continually travel on,
where I find new kinds of things in your loving.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Winds that Whisper Hello

The clouds are high above,
Floating freely this way and that.
The wind is whispering through the trees,
Rustling the leaves to sing to me.

I feel the wind upon my face,
The voices landing upon my ears.
The gentle winds warm me
And suddenly changes to cool breezes.

Temperatures changes suddenly,
When the wind shifts unexpectedly.
To hear the wind is to know
That somehow, someway it is saying hello.

poem by Carolyn Marie Taylor
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Helderberg Hill (Sestina)

You are the high hill with numerous peaks,
that in summer looks magnificent and cheery,
where I have climbed up to waterfalls, to heights,
where I got a view of sun, beach and sea,
felt as if in presence of God, with tranquillity
with your moods you remind me of a lady.

Once I wandered with a young lady
on a twisting trail among your high peaks
to find some inner peace, some tranquillity
and she was quite happy and rather cheery
gazing up at the blue sky, down at the sea
from both of those dazing heights.

Climbing up to the sheer heights
was like exploring the body of a lady
as if finding a secret kind of sea
with beautiful rising pointed peaks
and the experience was quite cheery,
suddenly leaving an own tranquillity.

My privacy is invaded by her tranquillity
as from far I still do watch her heights
and although feeling rather cheery
there is danger in this lovely lady
that beacons me with her high peaks
to look upon an endless open sea.

I long to gaze out upon the sea,
to be with her in tranquillity,
to wander among her peaks,
to again explore her heights
as if to visit a dear kind old lady
but I wonder if I will find her cheery?

But I must now continually stay cheery,
keep far away from the troubled sea,
avoid all of the dangerous heights
of live to be able to find tranquillity
but still the beautiful ageless lady
is luring me continually with her peaks.

How glimmering and cheery with ice her peaks
high above the sea, do glow from their heights,
she is without tranquillity, a chilly frozen lady.

poem by Gert Strydom
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If I Could Be The Wind

I want to be the wind blowing in forest playing their own song.
I want to be the wind bringing smiles for farmers.
I want to be the wind bringing rain, helping fireman in his hardest time.
I want to be the wind assisting plant to expand their kingdom.
I want to be the wind smoothly blowing over the sea and bringing fisherman home safely.
I want to be the wind covering the thing which ought to be left in past.
I want to be the wind clearing the mind of those with agony
I want to be the wind blowing in summer and tending to those without shelter.
I want to be the wind which bring happiness to the children taking their kite high up in the sky.
I want to be the wind removing clouds of torment and allowing sun to lay down its vital warmth.
I want to be the wind which remove thorn from path and help people to move forward.
I want to be the wind helping bird to take their first flight.
I want to be the wind which leaves versifier rapt giving him his divine words
I want to be the wind blowing all over place bringing happiness to people and vanishes stealthily, unnoticed.
I WANT TO BE THE WIND…

poem by Parth Gwari
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Fly with the wind

I want to be a bird
so beautiful and free
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a swan
so graceful and pure
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a hawk
with eyes that see the soul
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be an owl
wise queen of the night
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a dove
bringing good luck to many
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a parrot
with colors and wit
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be a nightingale
with the sweetest of voices
i want to fly like the wind

I want to be a raven
Darker than a starless night
I want to fly like the wind

I want to be me
and if I'm accepted
I will fly with the wind

poem by Alexianna Brandhagen
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Now That The Year Is Growing Kind Of Old (Envelope Couplet Sestets)

Now that the year is growing kind of old
when the true story of Jesus we are told,
we are living up to a day of giving
while daily we hear joyful birds singing
as when they did that child once behold,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

Now that the year is growing kind of old
our Christian faith we do at times uphold
while to others we bring some happiness
like messengers of God we try to bless,
sing happy songs on each friendly threshold,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

Now that the year is growing kind of old
while some live sheltered in a stronghold
in a world of chaos there is tranquillity,
when in God we find some serenity,
in our own lives we act cheerful and bold,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

Now that the year is growing kind of old
in our lives God’s blessings are manifold,
while merrily bells do jingle and chime,
we tell of loving that goes past all time,
we celebrate Christmas in each household,
now that the year is growing kind of old.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Orphan's Friend

Come all kind, good people,
With sympathizing hearts,
Come listen to a few kind words
A friend to you imparts.
Be kind to an orphan child,
And always be its friend,
You will be happy in this world,
And will be to the end.

Be kind to the motherless,
Little motherless ones,
For God will forever bless
You in this world to come.
No kind and loving mother
To soothe their little brow,
Be kind to them always, friends,
They have no mother now.

Be kind to the fatherless,
Wherever you may find
One little one that is friendless,
I pray you all be kind.
For it has no loving father,
To speak with mild reproof,
Or guide its youthful footsteps
In honesty and truth.

Be kind to the little orphans,
They have no parents dear;
Be kind to the little orphans,
Speak to them words of cheer,
Then they will always love you
For kind and gentle words,
Then God will ever bless you,
For He says so in His word.

poem by Julia A Moore
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Now is the time of our awakening

I

Now is the time of our awakening
in world where things are beautiful,
with the first caressing touch
of the morning’s refreshment

where the sun falls bright and hot,
where birds are singing together in joy,
in the blue jewel of the universe
about the glory that summer brings,

the earth is fresh after the first summer rain
with every tree, plant and flower
that grows much more powerful than previously
in the glory of their maturity

in every touch, colour and scent
we find nature at her prime.

II

We find nature at her prime
with birds singing joyous in the branches,
and we cannot draw ourselves away
of a world intruding into us,

every morning has something glorious
that we only have got to discover
and every time that you look at me
your glance wants to draw me into depths,

the essence of love is caught
in every day hanging around us,
we celebrate our intimate connection
in every wish and urge

that we yearn for in this world;
now your smile falls brightly.

III

Now your smile falls brightly
over the darkness of my life,
shining like a glorious day,
you bring new meaning each day

when your hand folds finely over mine
you look fragile, modestly
and I see the heavenly cobalt blue colour
in the bright gaze in your eyes

your voice is pure in every sound of it,
you are prettier than the most beautiful flower,
when your arms stretch round my neck
with everything coming out of the depth of love

our existence, our summer becomes holy
with an indistinguishable bright light.

IV

With an indistinguishable bright light
in the blinding bright ardour
of Your Godly omnipotence
that breaks right through our wavering courage

we both want to see You in our foolishness
even if days, nights, times has got to shatter
where You keep the world in Your mighty hands
past seasons of summer and winter

but in no thunder or raining stars
we could really see or find You,
in silent illustriousness You come
where every flower and animal serves you out of there own

from past the age old beginning, in the shining light
in the glory of sunshine.

V

In the glory of sunshine
you are in every bright summer day,
in the stars shining at night,
in the sovereign blue sky.

To me you are the most beautiful woman
who can understand me entirely
and there’s a kind of nobility that I see in you,
with comprehension you know where my life is going.

You are given to me in this summer sun,
as if happiness is bounded to this moment,
in the things we wish for and can do
for a whole lifetime’s meaning

when nature splashes down in moments;
the smell of your hair is like sweet grass.

VI

The smell of your hair is like sweet grass
baking in the summer sun
or ripe red peaches on a branch
that is washed clean in the drizzle

and the way that you reach for me
is like the brittle fluttering
of the wind singing through the trees,
is caressing like sun on glass

and your unknown moving foot
is a butterfly fluttering between flowers,
that only touches here and there in her arrival

before it again in apprehension flies away
with brittle wings banging down;
you are my serenity of the veldt.

VII

You are my serenity of the veldt,
earthly and still noble and pure,
the sweet repeating refrain
that insects and birds keep on mentioning.

You are glittering like an awesome brooch,
with your eyes glistening like the shining stars,
with enchantment that cannot disappear
full of fire but naturally unaffected.

You are the fluttering of the wind
that rustles through the fields of grass,
with the soft touching,
the charm that you find in drops
that sieve down on you, hesitating on your cheeks;
now is the time of our awakening.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Days Get Long

I

When summer days get extremely long
the sky becomes a much deeper hue,
a myriad of birds fill the cobalt blue,
constantly singing their gorgeous song

it is as if everything do belong
to the coming spring, are singing true
like some beautiful birds and insects do,
while colourful swarming in their great throng

over the gentle meadow and the valley
filling the tranquil grey evening sky
softly singing a sweet kind of medley
while in jubilance they still do fly
over fields of hay and fields of barley,
sunny day after sunny day pass by.

II

Sunny day after sunny day pass by
with almost a kind of smothering heat
the fields, the open veldt and dirt road lie
far to hot to tread with just bare feet.

Everything shimmers, the poplars that rears
like huge fingers pointing to the sun,
massive broad oak trees of many years
and grass and flowers where life has just begun

glitters in a new emerald green sheen,
the wind rustles things touching one by one
as if finding things where there had not been,
between huge black boulders rocks and stone

the sun blazes on every day the same,
I see the sun making wings of hot flame.

III

I see the sun making wings of hot flame
on the few white clouds in dazzling colours
and in the west there are some small wild game
drinking water while the evening hours

brings the white and blue stars out dazzling clear
with night predators in the pitch black sky
and some more wild game are drawing near,
I hear the hyenas laughing, wild dogs cry,

the growls of lions, the howling of jackals,
I get the smells of the earth and the bush,
I hear some leopards growling, their calls
that are where they are lying in ambush,

at night the predators are hunting prey,
making a living in the dying day.

IV

Making a living in the dying day
swarms of birds fly calling with flapping wings
poplars, cedars and many trees do sway
while the twilight is grey, full of life, brings

as if by some magic, all at play
flying leaves, bats insects and flying things
with a few that lonesome away stray,
most are flying to nests in trees that swings

and eventually places of rest receives
the many small things that are fluttering,
the wind settles among the moving leaves,
the numerous evening birds start to sing

until the full moon shines its silver rays,
when night fades slowly as on other days.

V

When night fades slowly as on other days,
man is still bound by nature and destiny
to the world in which he works and plays
as it probably will be to eternity.

The yellow sun, the cobalt blue heaven
is like it has been from its very birth
with its joyous bright splendour even
like any other day upon this earth

but a time will come when man will be free
from all death and all kinds of destruction
from heartache, the sorrows that he see
with a new amazing introduction

to a place that’s holy, pure and bright;
now suddenly it is silver twilight.

VI

Now suddenly it is silver twilight
and the sheer darkness of night flees away
before the coming new breaking day
with the blazing sheer redness of sunlight

constantly reflecting against the bright
unclouded sky open in its solid grey
with the red blossoming as if its to stay
and in the veldt guinea fowl flees in fright

while a small jackal laughs out its delight
and the few milling dark clouds do stray
before a strong wind as if in spite
and through bushes and grass rocking it plays
churning up eddies before going out of sight
while the hot sun rises with its golden rays.

VII

While the hot sun rises with its golden rays,
you come from a country where rivers meander
where the rain sieves down for many days
where some beautiful wild birds do wander

in lush overgrown tranquil water-meadows,
far away from the busy big city,
filled with thick green living hedgerows
where many bright wild flowers are pretty

but I still do wonder what you will see
in a land where vicious savage beasts
have no civility and do roam free
where the natives have very weird feasts,

where the flaming sun does spare no one,
when summer days get extremely long.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Wind Me Up

I've got something
That you ought to know
Don't even know
Whether to come or go
Up down
Head's spinning around
Wind up in
The lost and found
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Tell me why
You make it so hard
All I ask is
Finish what you start
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up that's
All you do
Wind me up and
Leave me blue
I'd like to see if
You could be
Kind enough to me
When you
Wind me up
Don't take me places
Then wanna go home
Sometimes, I think
I'm better off alone
Hey girl, you know
What you do
Color me red
Then leave me blue

song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Network

if the wind is your friend
then you will have wings
if it happens that the rock gets angry
because you are the friend of the wind
then you have nothing to rest upon
on a weary trip
somehow you ask the help of the trees
on the condition that you must hate the sky
but then without the sky
what use is your pair of wings?
you compromise with the help of the moon
to light you dark night
and the sun who is more powerful is mad
for it has long severed itself from the moon
if you have nothing to hide your head tomorrow
the rays of the sun like swords shall cut you
into shatters
the sea promises something
but the islands warn you about a catastrophe
now you must take note of all these
find a way to please all
and you end up
begging for more.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Release

That's my soul in flight, across freedom
Winging through meadows, calm, and soaring high
I look down and see no one, not a single person
Just the flowers singing in the sunshine wash

The wind across my face, it is gentle on me, I am home
The elation I know is forever, I am a speck that was life
Spiraling in vantage, I am now free, in release
No mars, no scars from the old talons of humanity

I can sing, my voice clear over buried hurts
Carrying the crystal sparkle of my guileless spirit
I am luminance that the light carries as its heritage
Unleashed in my essence, I finally find my sanctuary

Goodbye earth, your dimensions couldn't hold me
You cant have been my mother ever
You are browning yourself, with the trauma around you
Lets meet again when you find your release…

poem by Bindu Vijayan
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a Conversation and Thought

When sunshine not appears and bright the world
Little eagle feel empty…
She try to helps little birds as his task
So she feel much better
But still she has an empty feelings
She try to find any signs of him
Still she couldn’t find it
She put the leafs one by one
So she could notice
When her sunshine appears again
So she could share many laughs of the day
And she could feel his warm on her wings
She think maybe her sunshine lazy
To warm her wings and other wings as well
Boom…. Stupid little eagle! !
I only take a rest for a while, ”said sunshine
I always warm your wings eternally…
So… avoid that stupid thought from your little head
Be happy and sing a songs for other birds around
While I am not around…
So they could feel and join your happiness
In every moment…

poem by Minaslune Serene
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Vastly The Veldt, The Bush Stretches Out About Me (Idyll) (In Answer To Sir Philip Sidney)

I

Vastly the veldt, the bush stretches out about me
where nature is left to its own existence,
where all kinds of game roam free
and here is nothing to bother with an insistence

and the weary traveller on this earth
can find a new kind of longing, a new kind of hope,
like a kind of refreshing new birth
while thoughts go past the normal human scope

where a person wonders about the creator of things
while serenity is displayed where ever you look,
bees and birds continually sing about happy tidings
and nowhere one can get this experience in a book

that comes as some kind of divine blessing,
you have got to realise that there is more to life and living.

II

You have got to realise that there is more to life and living
that every word and deed leaves a mark, a own impact,
comes as benevolence or a kind of attack,
that there’s more to life that taking and giving

that nature’s innocence and violence draws and sting
and our actions on to it we can never take back,
even our wanderings on a natural track
leaves its mark on mere existing

that somehow nature needs to be left unspoilt
while we live in a kind of ruling arrogance,
this deadly paradise has its own kind of dazzling
while we effect change, like gods live rich and spoilt
while we hide beyond a cloak of ignorance,
seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring.

III

Seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring
and yet on a farm I have met a rural girl
who brings another feeling to existing, something touching,
while in the veldt sometimes dust clouds whirl

the strange solitariness feels as if it’s alive
and she has taken me to her hidden places,
the places dear to a sweetheart or wife
where violets grow wild, wildflowers have different faces

and the sun shines friendly in a blue hued sky,
where you can feel the great tranquillity,
see birds in their coloured swarms fly
and realise that here is some strange kind of unity

a kind of unspoilt idyllic life
that exists happily without any kind of strive.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Voices of the Air

But then there comes that moment rare
When, for no cause that I can find,
The little voices of the air
Sound above all the sea and wind.

The sea and wind do then obey
And sighing, sighing double notes
Of double basses, content to play
A droning chord for the little throats--

The little throats that sing and rise
Up into the light with lovely ease
And a kind of magical, sweet surprise
To hear and know themselves for these--

For these little voices: the bee, the fly
The leaf that taps, the pod that breaks,
The breeze on the grass-tops bending by,
The shrill quick sound that insect makes.

poem by Katherine Mansfield
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My Peggy Mitchell (Chant Royal)

Her smile seems so serene and sweet as if it’s everlasting
while she is still basking in rays of sunshine
although storm clouds are gathering,
and her beauty is something of the divine
and almost careless
our loving comes in swiftness
while she is drawing attention,
telling me things that no other woman will even mention
but she has an own dignity
are spirited to my apprehension
and from all cares she seems free.

In her humanity there is something
that does not meet the eye, something sublimely fine
and far too easily she makes my heart sing
when every smile of hers is mine
and I see a kind of kindness
shining through her loveliness
a kind of deep emotion
bringing a deepness to every affection,
it is far more than beauty that I see
in her solitary devotion
and from all cares she seems free.

Her joy is far greater than that of spring
and on her face every lovely line
is aflame when passion is rising
and it seems that to her spirit there is no decline
for she’s a summer girl without any meekness
and it seems that her glance does truly bless
but of this she does not have the slightest notion
while her looks at times causes a small commotion,
her laughter and joy is not full of glee
and I write this to a girl that loved me as a salutation
and from all cares she seems free.

Sometimes she dresses somewhat daring
and with her I want to dine,
when from all troubles she makes me uncaring
with burning candles and sparkling glasses of red wine
but to her sometimes our loving turns into nothingness
in pain she is tormenting me even when we are in bliss,
sometimes she is truly unruly at the slightest instigation,
with her words finding accusation after accusation
and I wonder if her loving is just charity,
if she has a unruly disposition
and from all cares she seems free.

She once carried my ring
and that happiness I cannot define
as she was full of joy at our wedding
and in joy her face did shine
without any aloofness
and I from my old ways did digress,
followed every recommendation
to make our relationship work, even in presumption
loving her in all sincerity
but maybe her truly loving me was a big assumption
and from all cares she seems free.

l’Envoi
Now she is driving me to anarchy and lawlessness
while I long for her sweet caress
and I sometimes receive an admonition
to my affectionate attention, to the words that I mention
while I am longing for sweet tranquillity
and I am searching for a loving connection
and from all cares she seems free.

poem by Gert Strydom
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About Flowers And Trees

I

Why did the chrysanthemum wait long
to open it's quivering twisted rays?
When other flowers are gone it grows strong
in these much more colder wintry days

with cups making blossoms like anemones
some seen as feathery, plumed, or spidery
growing big or smaller in shaded tones,
in the winter portraying nature's imagery

in bronze, brown, purple, red, pink and white
with a single or semi-double blossom
growing to man's and the Creator's delight
when ripe makes growing very unwholesome.

Why was it not sprouting, rising, growing
at the beginning of the lovely spring?

II

At the beginning of the lovely spring
in the veldt among big acacia trees
when the first drops of rain are visiting,
drawing new life, flowers and buzzing bees

I find the bulbous hyacinth flowering,
and its appearance, its fragrance
is almost totally overpowering
when it makes its sudden appearance

with pale-blue petals of strings all opening
smelling like a tiny perfumery,
with bell shaped small cups that are hanging
bright among the green and brown scenery

displaying the joys of living and life,
many times have I counted groups of five.

III

Many times have I counted groups of five,
in things making the way that nature is
and have seen five eggs coming to live,
five leaves on flowers with five small bees.

Even on some trees that number is right
but strangely sometimes it might be wrong
and while in nature I walk along,
I see different flowers in a throng,

hear various birds singing their beautiful song,
there's something in all flowers, in each tree
that tells something about its makers will
who makes all things how they are to be

I have seen even five bundles to a sheaf;
the trees are butting in flower and leaf.

IV

The trees are butting in flower and leaf
as if some kind of magic word was said,
in rejoicing without any small grief,
the growing long green stems upwards do spread

as if new life has come to them again
like from scratch they are programmed to do,
after receiving power from summer rain
but like humans sometimes they do die too

carrying more bountiful each summer day
to the custom of their kind and their breed
till the summer suddenly dwindles away,
again they are stripped as if in need

and I like the fragrant fresh smell the best,
while walking through a huge pine forest.

V

While walking through a huge pine forest
a gentle wind like a friend greeted me
and for lingering long moments I did rest,
feeling from the whole big world somewhat free

and it was filled with the catching smell
of pine trees and soft in its embrace
for many moments long did I there dwell,
by songs of twittering birds amazed

and I then longed forever to be
among the flying birds, the buzzing bees
and the soft shadows, the tranquillity
of the peaked mountain, the large trees,

but sometimes lightning falls in a blue-white spark,
when the stormy wind blows strong in the dark.

VI

When the stormy wind blows strong in the dark
and the dark black evening suddenly glows
and the wind whispers with a howling bark
among the waving, rocking trees and throws

branches breaking, snapping, twisting, tearing;
you can hear that great savage strange beast
walking about, awoke from slumber stirring
during winter in the forest, in the east

suddenly coming to its greatest strength
somewhere in the thick enveloping fog
as the long night draws out darker at length
while its breaking, mauling log upon log,

from this windy monster I want to be free,
let me find some peace and tranquillity.

VII

Let me find some peace and tranquillity
at some places where man have never trod,
experience the greatest kind of beauty
that still is spared from the iron rod

with which man rules cities, huge countries
let me see miracles, see nature's joys,
away form buildings and big industries,
far away from the scorn, the manmade noise.

Let me smell some sweet wild flowers and lie
on wild grass to find nature's peace and rest
under a clear blue unpolluted sky,
away from even them whom I love best

and I wonder before the winter comes along,
why did the chrysanthemum wait long?

poem by Gert Strydom
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Don't Tell The Wind

Springtime walks down the land
And hearts begin to understand
You are my love - you say we're gonna win
You know there's nothing to say -
Your love has gone with the wind
Don't tell the wind - when you find
That you are losing your love
Don't tell the wind - when you feel
That your love is in vain
Don't tell the wind - when you know
I'm gonna love you forever
Don't tell the wind - don't make it smile...
Voices appear whispering low
Don't wanna be here - I don't wanna go
You were my love - we're never gonna win
There's nothing left to say -
We're drifting in the wind
(Drifting in the wind - longing for some rest)

song performed by by Zeno
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Sympathy

I can't find no love
No sympathy
What kind of love
They've got for me
I'm on my way
To happiness
Where I can find
Some peace and rest
When I'm in my trouble here
Only me feels the pain
Not one good word of advice
From any of my so called friends
I can't find no love
No sympathy
What kind of love
They've got for me
I'm on my way
To happiness
Where I can find
Some peace and rest
Might as well, might as well
I get out, I get out of hell
Hell would never be made for me
So I'm gonna search, search 'till I'm free
I can't find no love
No sympathy
What kind of love
They've got for me
I'm on my way
To happiness
Where I can find
Some peace and rest

song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For the one that I love

It’s your voice
that I hear in the evening-wind,
you become reality in my dreams,
bringing ecstasy to my soul and body

and you know me throughout,
even in the dark places
that I keep secret
there are times when I find you there

when you sometimes sneak past reason
into my blood, my genes and thoughts
becoming the source of all my longing,
with your smile, your voice, falling on me as sunshine

and there is meaning that I find with you,
something magical that binds us together.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like A Sun-Bird That İs Drunk With Nectar

Like a sun-bird that is drunk with nectar,
you visit my soul continually with buzzing wings
and hopeless my life echoes on like a shadow
of what at a time it has been, as without hope

but still you draw near in the bright morning
bringing a kind of joy like a flower blooming
in the sheer dry wasted desert in bright colours,
while the night flutters, your embrace me tenderly

while your breast firmly alive press into me,
with shadows visiting us like tranquil butterflies
and outside the rain is falling, sieving continually
with clouds of steam rising from the hot tar;

sun-bird sometimes you leave and are gone
and then there is only sheer silence everywhere.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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