Ball's Bluff: A Reverie
One noonday, at my window in the town,
I saw a sight - saddest that eyes can see -
Young soldiers marching lustily
Unto the wars,
With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;
While all the porches, walks, and doors
Were rich with ladies cheering royally.
They moved like Juny morning on the wave,
Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime
(It was the breezy summer time),
Life throbbed so strong,
How should they dream that Death in rosy clime
Would come to thin their shining throng?
Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.
Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,
By nights I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,
On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);
Some marching feet
Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;
Wakeful I mused, while in the street
Far footfalls died away till none were left.
poem by Herman Melville
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Related quotes
Soldiers
soldiers, soldiers,
marching in dead time.
ghouls without faces,
in mechanical rhyme.
paid for, paid off,
eyes open and blind.
hearts severed from the soul,
soul severed from the mind.
gunfire, racism,
treat women like a toy.
grown men without mothers,
fathers, just boys.
gang bangers, pimp daddies,
kings of purgatory.
bad drugs, bad days,
and nights without joy.
cant pay the rent, get a job,
and prison becomes their school.
no hope for nothing more than nothing,
trapped by the have not rules....
soldiers, soldiers.
pawns in the rich man's game.
victims of unholy anger,
and gods that have no name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Feelings of the Wrong and Innocent Part 1
I cry on a dark night.
In my room looking out the window
Nothing in sight,
Only my reflection out the window
As I cry.
I cry because I'm angry.
I see the boys in the street
With poor innocent ladies,
Scared to death, why?
As I cry.
47th street of Chicago filled with women
Trying to make a living.
They need guidence,
But who when all the women are gone
To takecare of their kids.
In my window I cry.
poem by Paris.O Johnson
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The Sleep
I woke up
From my wakeful sleep
To sleep again in my reverie.
As I peeped through the window
Staring wildly at the sky
I enjoyed the shining dots
Mystically enchanting
They were to me.
What a wonderful sleep I had
As my eyes took me to the travel
Across the universe.
Sitting quietly within the core of my being
I asked many things
of existence and non-existence.
And both left me baffled
As I got up fresh the next day
From my lazy chair.
Another day has gone
And today a new beginning
As I said that to myself
I slumped myself on the bed
And took me off to another state
Before another day begin
I hope I understand
The mystery of this
Wondrous sleep
A wakeful sleep
In another sleep.
©cyclopseven. All right reserved 051107.
poem by cyclopseven Ram
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A Tramp On The Street
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Writers: grady and hazel colecapo: 1st fret/key: eb/play: d
[d] only a tramp was lazarus sad [g] fate
He who lay do-[a7] wn at the rich mans [d] gate
He begged for the crumbs from the rich man to [g] eat
He was only a [d] tramp found [a7] dead on the [d] street.[d] he was some mothers darlin, he was some mothers [g] son
Once he was [a7] fair and once he was [d] young
And some mother rocked him, her darlin to [g] sleep
But they left him to [d] die like a [a7] tramp on the [d] street.jesus, he died on calvarys tree
He shed his lifes blood for you and for me
They pierced his side and then his feet
And they left him to die like a tramp on the street.he was marys own darlin, he was gods chosen son
Once he was fair and once he was young
Mary, she rocked him, her darlin to sleep
But they left him to die like a tramp on the street. if jesus should come and knock on your door
For a place to come in, or bread from your store
Would you welcome him in, or turn him away
Then the gods would deny you on the great judgement day.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brave Little Soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
I must fight, I must win
Im a brave little soldier
Through hell and back again
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum
Per rum, pum, pum, pum, pum
Ye though I am marching through the valley filled with fear
My steps are sure and sturdy and my aim is straight and clear
The enemy is stalking me just waiting for the kill
Like david slewed galiath
I will claim this battle field
Im a brave little soldier
I must do what I can
Im a brave little soldier
And I must take a stand
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Marching, marching onward
Searching out the light of truth
I did not start the war
But its a battle I cant lose
Faith will be my armor
And love my sword and shield
I must defeat the enemy
I will, I will, I will
A brave little soldier
I must be bold and strong
A brave little soldier
And I must carry on
A brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Im a brave little soldier
A brave little soldier
Brave, little soldier
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tramp On The Street
Recorded by: hank williams, sr.
Writers: grady and hazel cole capo: 1st fret/key: eb/play: d
[d] only a tramp was lazarus sad [g] fate
He who lay do-[a7] wn at the rich mans [d] gate
He begged for the crumbs from the rich man to [g] eat
He was only a [d] tramp found [a7] dead on the [d] street. [d] he was some mothers darlin, he was some mothers [g] son
Once he was [a7] fair and once he was [d] young
And some mother rocked him, her darlin to [g] sleep
But they left him to [d] die like a [a7] tramp on the [d] street. jesus, he died on calvarys tree
He shed his lifes blood for you and for me
They pierced his side and then his feet
And they left him to die like a tramp on the street. he was marys own darlin, he was gods chosen son
Once he was fair and once he was young
Mary, she rocked him, her darlin to sleep
But they left him to die like a tramp on the street. if jesus should come and knock on your door
For a place to come in, or bread from your store
Would you welcome him in, or turn him away
Then the gods would deny you on the great judgement day.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh! Arranmore, Loved Arranmore
Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,
How oft I dream of thee,
And of those days when, by thy shore,
I wander'd young and free.
Full many a path I've tried, since then,
Through pleasure's flowery maze,
But ne'er could find the bliss again
I felt in those sweet days.
How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs
At sunny morn I've stood,
With heart as bounding as the skiffs
That danced along thy flood;
Or, when the western wave grew bright
With daylight's parting wing,
Have sought that Eden in its light
Which dreaming poets sing;
That Eden where the immortal brave
Dwell in a land serene --
Whose bowers beyond the shining wave
At sunset, oft are seen.
Ah, dream too full of saddening truth!
Those mansions o'er the main
Are like the hopes I built in youth --
As sunny and as vain!
poem by Thomas Moore
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The Drum
I'm a beautiful red, red drum,
And I train with the soldier boys;
As up the street we come,
Wonderful is our noise!
There's Tom, and Jim, and Phil,
And Dick, and Nat, and Fred,
While Widow Cutler's Bill
And I march on ahead,
With a r-r-rat-tat-tat
And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum -
Oh, there's bushels of fun in that
For boys with a little red drum!
The Injuns came last night
While the soldiers were abed,
And they gobbled a Chinese kite
And off to the woods they fled!
The woods are the cherry-trees
Down in the orchard lot,
And the soldiers are marching to seize
The booty the Injuns got.
With tum-titty-um-tum-tum,
And r-r-rat-tat-tat,
When soldiers marching come
Injuns had better scat!
Step up there, little Fred,
And, Charley, have a mind!
Jim is as far ahead
As you two are behind!
Ready with gun and sword
Your valorous work to do -
Yonder the Injun horde
Are lying in wait for you.
And their hearts go pitapat
When they hear the soldiers come
With a r-r-rat-tat-tat
And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum!
Course it's all in play!
The skulking Injun crew
That hustled the kite away
Are little white boys, like you!
But 'honest' or 'just in fun,'
It is all the same to me;
And, when the battle is won,
Home once again march we
With a r-r-rat-tat-tat
And tum-titty-um-tum-tum;
And there's glory enough in that
For the boys with their little red drum!
poem by Eugene Field
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The soldiers fought
The soldiers fought a fight, and went for us,
They went not thinking of themselves, and no fuss;
Some were injured. Yet in such agony they fought,
And some carried back to safety, while the enemy was sought.
Those soldiers were so very brave, fighting in our place,
Marching altogether, In order and without grace;
They never knew if they'd get back home at all,
All they did was fighting to win, the problem wasn't small.
And a lot of those brave soldiers, lost arms and legs, it's so,
But some very brave soldiers, where they died we don't know;
And this is why the legacy, we remember them, at set of sun,
And thank all these brave soldiers, for the good that was done.
poem by Margaret Haig
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One More Parade
Hup, two, three, four, marching down the street
Rollin of the drums and the tramping of the feet
General salutes and the mothers wave and weep
Here comes the big parade
Dont be afraid, prices paid
One more parade
So young, so strong, so ready for the war
So willing to go and die upon a foreign shore
All march together, everybody looks the same
So there is no one you can blame
Dont be ashamed, light the flame
One more parade
Listen for the sound and listen for the noise
Listen for the thunder of the marching boys
A few years ago their guns were only toys
Here comes the big parade
Dont be afraid, prices paid
One more parade
So young, so strong, so ready for the war
So willing to go and die upon a foreign shore
All march together, everybody looks the same
So there is no one you can blame
Dont be ashamed, light the flame
One more parade
Medals on their coats and guns in their hands
Trained to kill as theyre trained to stand
Ten thousand ears need only one command
Here comes the big parade
Dont be afraid, prices paid
Dont be ashamed, wars a game
Worlds in flames, so start the parade
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Scarborough Had Land
I remember Scarborough proud Protestant and blue,
With portraits of a Queen near every pew.
No Sunday shops, no music hops, no liquor on display,
Where the Lodges and the Legions marched each Victoria Day.
Where ensigns flew, Union Jacks too, unique uniforms on parade.
A raucous rush of pompous pride by pals from every trade,
As they beat the drum down Danforth Road on the twenty fourth of May,
Out to the country and back by Byng, again on Dominion Day.
Those were loyal times before the war for king and queen and all,
For more than a few, this love did cause, their ultimate downfall.
It did at Dieppe and D-day too like their seniors at the Somme,
They died for king and country; they did it for a song.
And soon they were forgotten, those who fought for king and crown,
Though those lucky to return had saved the country and the town.
They would walk again forever with their flags flying high,
Marching medals of the heroes that no one could deny.
Except the town of Scarborough was down on the drawing board,
And those fields and sheep and meadows didn't fit the grand accord.
No newcomers paid attention as the veterans vied for space,
And their parades of marching medals only had an old-time grace.
And Scarborough changed by day and night from a township to a city,
Old soldiers faded fast and few and no one had much pity.
And the immigrants came in wave after wave from places far and wide,
As the soldiers went to grave after grave with their flags and faded pride.
But still a few survive today and I'm sure they are not pleased.
'bout the changes to the town and how Scarborough had been squeezed,
From a township to a city where no one cared for esprit de corps,
So they amalgamated with Toronto and Scarborough was no more.
And culture clash and bureaucrat and ever changing rules,
Of mandarin and moguls and Tamils dressed in jewels,
While traffic roared and the buildings soared sometimes to sixty stories,
Where women wrapped in saris sashayed in all their glories.
They had lost the town without a fight, those men from long ago.
And everything was centralized; they said to save some dough,
But the authorities had lied again; it was all politically correct,
And no one marched, no flags did fly and no one did protest.
There are sometimes you still can hear it, the distant drone of pipes,
And men in kilts still carry on, just watched by boys on bikes.
They're just a faint reminder now of the many marching bands,
When those with flags and medals marched and Scarborough had some land.
DEC 1ST 2010
poem by James Bredin
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Mary Rivers
Path beside the silver waters, flashing in October’s sun—
Walk, by green and golden margins where the sister streamlets run—
Twenty shining springs have vanished, full of flower, and leaf, and bird,
Since the step of Mary Rivers in your lawny dell was heard!
Twenty white-haired Junes have left us—grey with frost and bleak with gale—
Since the hand of her we loved so plucked the blossoms in your dale.
Twenty summers, twenty autumns, from the grand old hills have passed,
With their robes of royal colour, since we saw the darling last.
Morning comes—the blessed morning! and the slow song of the sea,
Like a psalm from radiant altars, floats across a rose-red lea;
Then the fair, strong noonday blossoms, and the reaper seeks the cool
Valley of the moss and myrtle, and the glimmering water-pool.
Noonday flames and evening follows; and the lordly mountains rest
Heads arrayed with tenfold splendour on the rich heart of the West.
Evening walks with moon and music where the higher life has been;
But the face of Mary Rivers there will nevermore be seen.
Ah! when autumn dells are dewy, and the wave is very still,
And that grey ghost called the Twilight passes from the distant hill—
Even in the hallowed nightfall, when the fathers sit and dream,
And the splendid rose of heaven sees a sister in the stream—
Often do I watch the waters gleaming in a starry bay,
Thinking of a bygone beauty, and a season far away;
Musing on the grace that left us in a time of singing rain,
On the lady who will never walk amongst these heaths again.
Four there were, but two were taken; and this darling we deplore,
She was sweetest of the circle—she was dearest of the four!
In the daytime and the dewtime comes the phantom of her face:
None will ever sit where she did—none will ever fill her place.
With the passing of our Mary, like a sunset out of sight,
Passed away our pure first passion—all its life and all its light!
All that made the world a dreamland—all the glory and the glow
Of the fine, fresh, morning feeling vanished twenty years ago.
Girl, whose strange, unearthly beauty haunts us ever in our sleep,
Many griefs have worn our hearts out—we are now too tired to weep!
Time has tried us, years have changed us; but the sweetness shed by you
Falls upon our spirits daily, like divine, immortal dew.
Shining are our thoughts about you—of the blossoms past recall,
You are still the rose of lustre—still the fairest of them all;
In the sleep that brings the garland gathered from the bygone hours,
You are still our Mary Rivers—still the queen of all the flowers.
Let me ask, where none can hear me—When you passed into the shine,
And you heard a great love calling, did you know that it was mine?
In your life of light and music, tell me did you ever see,
Shining in a holy silence, what was as a flame in me?
Ah, my darling! no one saw it. Purer than untrodden dew
Was that first unhappy passion buried in the grave with you.
Bird and leaf will keep the secret—wind and wood will never tell
Men the thing that I have whispered. Mary Rivers, fare you well!
poem by Henry Kendall
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Barbara Frietchie
Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
Fair as the garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall;
Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet,
Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
'Halt!' - the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
'Fire!' - out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.
She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.
'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag,' she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word;
'Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on! he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
And the Rebel rides on his raids nor more.
Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewalls' bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
Peace and order and beauty draw
Round they symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Workmen's March
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
That makes
one
of many, many,
That makes bold, if fear daunts any,
That makes small the load and lighter,
That makes near the goal and brighter,
Till it greets us gained with laughter,
And we seek the next one after.
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
Marching, marching of few hundreds,
No one heeds it, never one dreads;
Marching, marching of few thousands,
Here and there wakes some to hearing;
Marching, marching hundred thousands,-
All will mark that thunder nearing.
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
Let us march all, never weaken
Time from Vardö down to Viken,
Vinger up to Bergen's region,-
Let us make
one
marching legion,
Then we'll rout some wrong from Norway,
Open wide to right the doorway.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Toughest Street In Town
Outside the window the neon flashes
In the morning light
Down on the sidewalk theres a woman with a problem
But she dont know how to fight
Shes destitute and broken down
She softly whispers is there no one around
And no one hears the sound
Her knees give way and hit the ground
This is the toughest street in town
This is the toughest street in town
This is the toughest street in town
This is the toughest
Like a rat in a pack it attacks
From the back
Through a crack in a track
And you take a smack
This jack has had a hard day
No one told him it would be like this
Hes had to score the hard way
Working on twenty hour shifts
This is the toughest street in town
This is the toughest
Its tough stuff
This is the toughest street around
This is the toughest
Dont you do down
No how
Its just another black spot
Where far too many people have died
Its just another grave yard
And theres not too many people left alive
This is the toughest
Are you tough enough
This is the toughest
Are you rough enough
This is the toughest
Can you bluff enough
Just a minor misery did me no harm
But its there to warn outside the window
The neon is still flashing in the morning light
Down on the sidewalk that woman was blown away
Out of sight
All across the city no one gives a damn
All across the city no one seems to understand
This is the toughest
This is the toughest street in town
This is the toughest street around
This is the toughest
Are you rough enough
This is the toughest
If I were you I wouldnt come around here
This is the toughest
This is the toughest
Are you tough enough
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boys Are Back In Town
Guess who just got back today
Them wildout boys, that'd been away
Haven't changed, had much to say
But man I still think them cats are great
They were asking if you were around
How you was, where you could be found
Told them you were living downtown
Driving all the old men crazy
The Boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
(I Said) The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
You know that chic who used to dance a lot?
Every night she'd be on the floor, shaken what she got
Man when I tell you she was cool she was red hot
I mean she was steamin'
And that time over at Johnny's place
When this chic got up and slapped Johnny's face
Man we just fell about the place
What that chic don't wanna know forget 'er
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
(I said) The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
Spread the word around
Guess who's back in town
You spread the word around
Friday night they'll be dressed to kill
Down at Dino's bar and grill
The drinks will flow and blood would spill
If the boys wanna fight you better let 'em
That kid rocks down at the corner blasting out my favourite song
The nights are getting warmer and won't be long
Wont be long till the summer comes
Now that the boys are here again
The boys are back in town (the boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (the boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (the boys are back in town)
(Spread the word around)
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
(The boys are back, the boys are back)
The boys are back in town again
They're hanging out at Dino's
The boys are back in town again
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ladys Aid Society
In every little town and village too
Somewhere in the neighborhood
Youll find a little band of ladies who
Cant stop doing good
Good for the pigeons in the park
Good for the weekly tea
Good for the national bank where they keep their treasury
Were the ladies aid society
And were really a great bunch of girls
Were the ladies aid society
And soon well take over the world
Here they come marching down the street
Witgh their picket signs in hand
With their blue and white pleated uniforms
And their all girl five-piece band
Down with long haired singing groups
Down with the mayor too
And if you;re under 65 theyre down on you
Were the ladies aid society
And we just want to sell you the truth
Were the ladies aid society
And its time we clamp down on the youth
Were the ladies aid society
And were really a great bunch of girls
Were the ladies aid soicety
And soon well take over the world
Were the ladies aid society
And we just want to sell you the truth
Were the ladies aid society
And its time we clamp down on the youth
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXI.
Pensive, at eve, on the hard world I mused,
And my poor heart was sad: so at the Moon
I gazed--and sighed, and sighed--for, ah! how soon
Eve saddens into night! Mine eyes perused,
With tearful vacancy, the dampy grass,
That wept and glitter'd in the paly ray,
And I did pause me on my lonely way,
And mused me on the wretched ones, who pass
O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, alas!
Most of myself I thought: when it befell,
That the sooth Spirit of the breezy wood
Breath'd in mine ear--'All this is very well;
But much of one thing is for no thing good.'
Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell!
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Battle Hymn of the Republic
. Howe's Final version
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fatal lightning of his terrible swift sword:
His Truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
His Day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
'As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on.'
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat:
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me:
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
2. Howe's First Manuscript Version
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
He is trampling out the wine press, where the grapes of wrath are stored,
He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of his terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on.
I have seen him in the watchfires of an hundred circling camps
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps,
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,
His day is marching on.
I have read a burning Gospel writ in fiery rows of steel,
As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal
Let the hero born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Our God is marching on.
He has sounded out the trumpet that shall never call retreat,
He has waked the earth's dull sorrow with a high ecstatic beat,
Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet
Our God is marching on.
In the whiteness of the lilies he was born across the sea
With a glory in his bosom that shines out on you and me,
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
Our God is marching on.
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave
He is wisdom to the mighty, he is sucour to the brave
So the world shall be his footstool, and the soul of Time his slave
Our God is marching on.
poem by Julia Ward Howe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Footsteps in the Street
Oh, will the footsteps never be done?
The insolent feet
Thronging the street,
Forsaken now of the only one.
The only one out of all the throng,
Whose footfall I knew,
And could tell it so true,
That I leapt to see as she passed along,
As she passed along with her beautiful face,
Which knew full well
Though it did not tell,
That I was there in the window-space.
Now my sense is never so clear.
It cheats my heart,
Making me start
A thousand times, when she is not near.
When she is not near, but so far away,
I could not come
To the place of her home,
Though I travelled and sought for a month and a day.
Do you wonder then if I wish the street
Were grown with grass,
And no foot might pass
Till she treads it again with her sacred feet?
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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