Written for my Son ... at his First Putting on Breeches
WHAT is it our mamma's bewitches,
To plague us little boys with breeches ?
To tyrant Custom we must yield,
Whilst vanquish'd Reason flies the field.
Our legs must suffer by ligation,
To keep the blood from circulation ;
And then our feet, tho' young and tender,
We to the shoemaker's surrender ;
Who often makes our shoes so strait,
Our growing feet they cramp and fret ;
Whilst, with contrivance most profound,
Across our insteps we are bound ;
Which is the cause, I make no doubt,
Why thousands suffer in the gout.
Our wiser ancestors wore brogues,
Before the surgeons brib'd these rogues,
With narrow toes, and heels like pegs,
To help to make us break our legs.
Then, ere we know to use our fists,
Our mothers closely bind our wrists ;
And never think our cloaths are neat,
Till they're so tight we cannot eat.
And, to increase our other pains,
The hatband helps to cramp our brains.
The cravat finishes the work,
Like bowstring sent from the Grand Turk.
Thus dress, that should prolong our date,
Is made to hasten on our fate.
Fair privilege of nobler natures,
To be more plagu'd than other creatures !
The wild inhabitants of air
Are cloath'd by heav'n with wondrous care :
Their beauteous, well-compacted feathers
Are coats of mail against all weathers ;
Enamell'd, to delight the eye ;
Gay as the bow that decks the sky.
The beasts are cloath'd with beauteous skins :
The fishes arm'd with scales and fins ;
Whose lustre lends the sailor light,
When all the stars are hid in night.
O were our dress contriv'd like these,
For use, for ornament, and ease !
Man only seems to sorrow born,
Naked, defenceless, and forlorn.
Yet we have Reason to supply
What nature did to man deny :
Weak Viceroy ! Who thy pow'r will own,
When Custom has usurp'd thy throne ?
In vain did I appeal to thee,
Ere I would wear his livery ;
Who, in defiance of thy rules,
Delights to make us act like fools.
O'er human race the tyrant reigns,
And binds them in eternal chains.
We yield to his despotic sway,
The only monarch all obey.
poem by Mary Barber
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Written For My Son In His Sickness, To One Of His School fellows.
I little thought that honest Dick
Would slight me so, when I was sick.
Is he a Friend, who only stays,
Whilst Health and Pleasure gild our Days;
Flies, when Disease our Temper sours,
Nor helps to pass the gloomy Hours?
Says my Mamma, who loves to make
Reflections for her Childrens sake;
You see how mortal Friendship ends--
My Child, secure celestial Friends:
Make Heav'n your chief, your early Care;
You'll meet no Disappointment there.
Build not on Length of Days, my Son;
Life's longest Race is quickly run.
Lay hold on ev'ry coming Hour;
Do all the Good that's in your Pow'r:
This will the sinking Heart sustain,
When Cordials are dispens'd in vain;
Asswage the racking Pains, that seize
On Limbs devoted to Disease;
The Place of fleeting Friends supply;
Pour balmy Slumbers on thine Eye;
Shield thee from Terrors of the Night,
And wing thy Pray'rs to Realms of Light;
Thy ev'ry painful Care dismiss,
And crown thee with eternal Bliss.
poem by Mary Barber
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Faithless Nelly Gray
A Pathetic Ballad
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.
Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, --
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!'
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.
Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave
'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'
'Why, then,' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms!'
'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:
Though I've no feet, some other man
Is standing in my shoes.
'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death' -- alas!
You will not be my Nell!'
Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.
So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did intwine,
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line.
One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs;
And, as his legs were off -- of course
He soon was off his legs.
And there he hung till he was dead
As any nail in town;
For, though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down.
A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died, --
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads
With a stake in his inside.
poem by Thomas Hood
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An Apology For My Son To His Master, For Not Bringing An Exercise On The Coronation Day.
Why are we Scholars plagu'd to write,
On Days devoted to Delight?
In Honour of the King, I'd play
Upon his Coronation Day:
But as for Loyalty in Rhyme,
Defer that to another Time.
Now to excuse this to my Master--
(This Want of Rhyme's a sad Disaster)
Sir, we confess you take great Pains,
And break your own, to mend our Brains.
You strive to make us learn'd, and wise;
But to what End? -- We shall not rise:
In vain should at Preferment aim,
Whilst Strangers make their happier Claim.
Why should we labour to excel,
Doom'd in Obscurity to dwell?
Then, since our Welfare gives you Pain,
(And yet your Toil may prove in vain)
I wish, for your, and for our Ease,
That all were Coronation Days.
poem by Mary Barber
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Tyrant
Behold tis I the commander
Whose grip controls you all
Resist me not, surrender
Ill no compassion call
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
Your very lives are held within my fingers
I snap them and you cower down in fear
You spineless things who belly down to slither
To the end of the world you follow to be near
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
Mourn for us oppressed in fear
Chained and shackled we are bound
Freedom choked in dread we live
Since tyrant was enthroned
I listen not to sympathy
Whilst ruler of this land
Withdraw your feeble aches and moans
Or suffer smite from this my hand
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
Mourn for us oppressed in fear
Chained and shackled we are bound
Freedom choked in dread we live
Since tyrant was enthroned
My legions faithful unto death
Ill summon to my court
And as you perish each of you
Shall scream as you are sought
(tyrant) capture of humanity
(tyrant) conqueror of all
(tyrant) hideous destructor
(tyrant) every man shall fall
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Emulation
Say, Tyrant Custom, why must we obey
The impositions of thy haughty Sway;
From the first dawn of Life, unto the Grave,
Poor Womankind's in every State, a Slave.
The Nurse, the Mistress, Parent and the Swain,
For Love she must, there's none escape that Pain;
Then comes the last, the fatal Slavery,
The Husband with insulting Tyranny
Can have ill Manners justify'd by Law;
For Men all join to keep the Wife in awe.
Moses who first our Freedom did rebuke,
Was Marry'd when he writ the Pentateuch;
They're Wise to keep us Slaves, for well they know,
If we were loose, we soon should make them so.
We yield like vanquish'd Kings whom Fetters bind,
When chance of War is to Usurpers kind;
Submit in Form; but they'd our Thoughts control,
And lay restraints on the impassive Soul:
They fear we should excel their sluggish parts,
Should we attempt the Sciences and Arts;
Pretend they were design'd for them alone,
So keep us Fools to raise their own Renown;
Thus Priests of old their Grandeur to maintain,
Cry'd vulgar Eyes would sacred Laws Profane.
So kept the Mysteries behind a Screen,
There Homage and the Name were lost had they been seen:
But in this blessed Age, such Freedom's given,
That every Man explains the Will of Heaven;
And shall we Women now sit tamely by,
Make no excursions in Philosophy,
Or grace our Thoughts in tuneful Poetry?
We will our Rights in Learning's World maintain,
Wit's Empire, now, shall know a Female Reign,
Come all ye Fair, the great Attempt improve,
Divinely imitate the Realms above:
There's ten celestial Females govern Wit,
And but two Gods that dare pretend to it;
And shall these finite Males reverse their Rules,
No, we'll be Wits, and then Men must be Fools.
poem by Sarah Fyge
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Sophia’s Fool’s-Cap
SOPHIA was a little child,
Obliging, good, and very mild,
Yet lest of dress she should be vain,
Mamma still dress'd her well, but plain.
Her parents, sensible and kind,
Wish'd only to adorn her mind;
No other dress, when good, had she,
But useful, neat simplicity.
Though seldom, yet when she was rude,
Or ever in a naughty mood,
Her punishment was this disgrace,
A large fine cap, adorn'd with lace,
With feathers and with ribbons too;
The work was neat, the fashion new,
Yet, as a fool's-cap was its name,
She dreaded much to wear the same.
A lady, fashionably gay,
Did to mamma a visit pay:
Sophia stared, then whisp'ring said,
'Why, dear mamma, look at her head!
To be so tall and wicked too,
The strangest thing I ever knew:
What naughty tricks, pray, has she done,
That they have put that fool's-cap on? '
poem by Ann Taylor
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Mustapha
Oh, wearisome condition of humanity,
Born under one law, to another bound;
Vainly begot, and yet forbidden vanity,
Created sick, commanded to be sound.
What meaneth nature by these diverse laws?
Passion and reason self-division cause.
It is the mark or majesty of power
To make offences that it may forgive;
Nature herself doth her own self deflower,
To hate those errors she herself doth give.
For how should man think that he may not do,
If nature did not fail and punish too?
Tyrant to others, to herself unjust,
Only commands things difficult and hard,
Forbids us all things which it knows is lust,
Makes easy pains, unpossible reward.
If nature did not take delight in blood,
She would have made more easy ways to good.
We that are bound by vows and by promotion,
With pomp of holy sacrifice and rites,
To teach belief in good and still devotion,
To preach of heaven's wonders and delights:
Yet when each of us in his own heart looks
He finds the God there far unlike his books.
poem by Lord Brooke Fulke Greville
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Creatures Of Love
A woman made a man
A man he made a house
And when they lay together
Little creatures all come out
Well, Ive seen sex and I think its alright
It makes those little creatures come to life
I can laugh or I can turn away
Well, Ive seen sex and I think its okay
We are creatures, creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
From the sleep of reason, a life is born
We are creatures, creatures of love
Its okay to be afraid
When the blue sparks hit your brain
We can love one another
Ive been told that its okay
Doctor, doctor, tell me what I am
Am I one of those human beings
Well I can laugh or I can learn to think
So help me now to find out what I feel
We are creatures, creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
Weve been here forever, before you were born
We are creatures of love, we are creatures of love
A man can drive his car
And a woman can be a boss
Im a monkey and a flower
Im everything at once
Well, a woman and a man can be together
If they decide to theyll make little creatures
Watch em now!
Little creature of love
With two arms and two legs
From a moment of passion
Now they cover the bed
We are creatures of love, we are creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
We are creatures, creatures of love
From the sleep of reason, a life is born
We are creatures of love, we are creatures of love
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death On Two Legs (Instrumental) (1980-12-08: London, England)
You suck my blood like a leech
You break the law and you breach
Screw my brain till it hurts
You've taken all my money - and you want more
Misguided old mule
With your pigheaded rules
With your narrow-minded cronies who are fools
Of the first division -
Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs -
You never had a heart of your own
Kill joy, bad guy
Big talking, small fry
You're just an old barrow-boy
Have you found a new toy to replace me
Can you face me -
But now you can kiss my ass goodbye
Feel good, are you satisfied
Do you feel like suicide (I think you should)
Is your conscience all right
Does it plague you at night
Do you feel good - Feel good
Talk like a big business tycoon
But you're just a hot-air balloon
So no one gives you a damn
You're just an overgrown school-boy
Let me tan your hide
A dog with disease
You're king of the 'sleaze'
Put your money where your mouth is Mr. Know all
Was the fin on your back part of the deal ... (shark)
Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs -
You never had a heart of your own
(You never did, right from the start)
Insane, you should be put inside
You're a sewer-rat decaying in a cesspool of pride
Should be made unemployed
Make yourself null-and-void
Make me feel good
I feel good
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pointy Toes
Pointy toes,
Elegance shows.
A dancer's feet,
Worn and Weary,
A ballerina's feat,
Makes it look easy.
We abuse our feet,
Scrapped till it bites,
We abuse our feet,
Tie knots too tight,
We abuse our feet,
Stand till sore,
We abuse our feet,
Curl like claw.
High heels, tall.
We abuse our feet,
Bound feet small.
Abuse our feet most than rest of body?
Take care, your feet, Everybody.
Death On Two Legs
Words and music by freddie mercury
You suck my blood like a leech
You break the law and you preach
Screw my brain till it hurts
You've taken all my money
And you want more
Misguided old mule with your pig headed rules
With your narrow minded cronies
Who are fools of the first division
Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You've never had a heart of your own
Kill joy bad guy big talking small fry
You're just an old barrow boy
Have you found a new toy to replace me?
Can you face me?
But now you can kiss my ass goodbye
Feel good are you satisfied?
Do you feel like suicide?
(i think you should)
Is your conscience all right
Does it plague you at night?
Do you feel good feel good?
You talk like a big business tycoon
You're just a hot air balloon
So no one gives you a damn
You're just an overgrown schoolboy
Let me tan your hide
A dog with disease
You're the king of the 'sleaze'
Put your money where your mouth is
Mister know-all
Was the fin on your back
Part of the deal? (shark)
Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You've never had a heart (you never did) of your own
(right from the start)
Insane you should be put inside
You're a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride
Should be made unemployed
Then make yourself null and void
Make me feel good i feel good
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn 73
The church's beauty in the eyes of Christ.
SS 4:1-11.
Kind is the speech of Christ our Lord,
Affection sounds in every word:
Lo! thou art fair, my love," he cries,
"Not the young doves have sweeter eyes."
["Sweet are thy lips, thy pleasing voice
Salutes mine ear with secret joys;
No spice so much delights the smell,
Nor milk nor honey tastes so well.]
"Thou art all fair, my bride, to me,
I will behold no spot in thee."
What mighty wonders love performs,
And puts a comeliness on worms!
Defiled and loathsome as we are,
He makes us white, and calls us fair;
Adorns us with that heav'nly dress,
His graces and his righteousness.
"My sister and my spouse," he cries,
"Bound to my heart by various ties,
Thy powerful love my heart detains
In strong delight and pleasing chains."
He calls me from the leopard's den,
From this wild world of beasts and men,
To Zion, where his glories are;
Not Lebanon is half so fair.
Nor dens of prey, nor flowery plains,
Nor earthly joys, nor earthly pains,
Shall hold my feet or force my stay,
When Christ invites my soul away.
poem by Isaac Watts
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To Miss Hickman, Playing the Spinet
Bright Stella, form'd for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain;
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play,
Awed into love our conquer'd hearts obey,
And yield reluctant to despotic sway;
But when your music soothes the raging pain,
We bid propitious heaven prolong your reign,
We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain.
When old Timotheus struck the vocal string,
Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king:
Unbounded projects labouring in his mind,
He pants for room in one poor world confined.
Thus waked to rage by music's dreadful power,
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour.
Had Stella's gentle touches moved the lyre,
Soon had the monarch felt the nobler fire:
No more delighted with destructive war,
Ambitious only now to please the fair;
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms,
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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Autumn Vavroovahana Patra
Autumn reigns on Earth;
In all creatures plays waves of mirth.
Chilly breeze blows on Earth;
People enjoy the beauty with mirth.
Green paddy plants smile in the lap of Nature;
Goddess operates the lives of all creatures.
Is the Deity of all Deities;
Is our Almighty.
Creatures surrender on mother’s feet;
She is our lives savior, delight.
Provides duty;
Chanting hymns we live with gaiety.
Beauteous looks Autumn firmament.
In all creatures plays waves of merriment;
Silvery cloudy play in the sky;
In poet’s mind plays gay.
Earth looks beautiful;
Creatures are delightful.
Pray goddess gleefully;
Surrender on the Rosy feet gaily.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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The Book Of Creation
The book of nature open lies,
With much instruction stored;
But till the Lord anoints our eyes
We cannot read a word.
Philosophers have pored in vain,
And guessed, from age to age;
For reason's eye could ne'er attain
To understand a page.
Though to each star they give a name,
Its size and motions teach;
The truths which all the stars proclaim,
Their wisdom cannot reach.
With skill to measure earth and sea;
And weigh the subtle air;
They cannot, Lord, discover thee
Though present everywhere.
The knowledge of the saints excels
The wisdom of the schools;
To them his secrets God reveals,
Though men account them fools.
To them the sun and stars on high,
The flow'rs that paint the field,
And all the artless birds that fly,
Divine instruction yield.
The creatures on their senses press,
As witnesses to prove
Their Saviour's pow'r, and faithfulness,
His providence and love.
Thus may we study nature's book
To make us wise indeed!
And pity those who only look
At what they cannot read.
poem by John Newton
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Courante Monsieur
That frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd
Thy bright front's pow'r, and crown'd
Me that was bound.
No, no, deceived cruel, no!
Love's fiery darts,
Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts.
Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see!
Thy angry flames meant me,
Retort on thee:
For know, it is decreed, proud fair,
I ne'r must dye
By any scorching, but a melting, eye.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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The Female Phaeton
Thus Kitty, beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untamed,
Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,
With little rage inflamed.
Inflamed with rage at sad restraint
Which wise mamma ordain'd,
And sorely vex'd to play the saint
Whilst wit and beauty reign'd.
Shall I thumb holy books, confined
With Abigails, forsaken?
Kitty's for other things design'd,
Or I am much mistaken.
Must Lady Jenny frisk about,
And visit with her cousins?
At balls must she make all the rout,
And bring home hearts by dozens?
What has she better, pray, than I?
What hidden charms to boast,
That all mankind for her should die,
Whilst I am scarce a toast?
Dearest mamma, for once let me
Unchain'd my fortune try:
I'll have my earl as well as she,
Or know the reason why.
I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score,
Make all her lovers fall:
They'll grieve I was not loosed before;
She I was loosed at all.
Fondness prevail'd, mamma gave way:
Kitty, at heart's desire,
Obtain'd the chariot for a day,
And set the world on fire.
poem by Matthew Prior
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V…Villa…Villalanelle
Break them at start of such a sulky day,
Though sick boys do fall for traps they make.
Never yield to the sad skull screams do they,
Just dance a dance midst dreary shadow play,
Though evil men and worldly beings of fake
Break them at start of such a sulky day,
Though often weep alone in chaos clay,
And keep poor brains which wrap their souls to take
Never yield to the sad skull screams do they,
And though naives and fools keep them from their way
And choke them blue as they stand in their wake
Break them at start of such a sulky day,
Sick Boys never mourn nor cry, so they say
Salt drenched drops seldom from their eyes do flake,
Never yield to the sad skull screams do they,
And though complain often those Sick Boys may
Of how the cold breeze chills and muscle ache,
Break them at start of such a sulky day,
Never yield to the sad skull screams do they.
(2012)
Samvel Aleksanyan © All Rights Reserved
No Spill Blood
(what is the law? )
(what is the law? )
Animals came from miles around
So tired of walking so close toe the ground
They needed a chance, thats what they said
Life is better walking on two legs
But they were in for a big surprise
cause they didnt know the law!
Chorus
(what is the law)
No spill blood
What is the law
(no spill blood)
(who makes the rules)
Someone else
Who makes the rules
(someone else)
The rules are written in the stone
Break the rules and you get no bones
All you get is ridicule, laughter
And a trip to the house of pain!
Chorus (in reverse order)
We walk on two legs not on four
To walk on four legs breaks the law
What happens when we break the law?
What happens when the rules arent fair?
We all know here we go from there
To the house of pain!
To the house of pain!
(what is the law)
What is the law
(who makes the rules)
Who makes the rules
We walk on two legs not on four
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
(no spill blood)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written For My Son, And Spoken By Him, At A public Examination For Victors.
To you, Athenians, we again submit;
Reward, or punish us, as you think fit.
Let Idleness, unpity'd, meet Disgrace;
For Idleness, this Year, is doubly base.
This is the Æra, this the destin'd Year,
For Arts and Sciences to flourish here.
The Muses, exil'd long, to Court repair;
And--strange to think! are all the Fashion there.
Who feels not now a gen'rous Emulation,
When Merit raises to the highest Station?
Scholars may surely hope a better Fate,
Whilst Carteret directs the Helm of State.
O would he govern here by Grecian Rules,
And chuse a Senate, to preside o'er Schools;
Honour, alone, to pay the glorious Task,
(A Recompence no Foreigner would ask!)
Then kind Britannia, doubtless, would consent,
Hibernia should supply a President.
Too oft, alas! are Talents misapply'd,
By Parents Fondness, Ignorance, and Pride.
This Grievance then would cease, and we should be
Regarded, as the Publick's Property:
Genius alone would be consulted then,
(The only Way to make us useful Men)
And each would have his sev'ral Task assign'd,
As Nature gave the Biass to his Mind.
Boys of a brutal, cruel Disposition,
Should go to Spain, to serve the Inquisition.
O what a Change in Landlords would appear!
Next Age, not one would rack his Tenants here.
The Lads, who study but to dress and dance,
Should cultivate their Worthlesness in France.
Those who love Liberty, to Albion roam;
But, could they bear Oppression,--stay at home.
Then glorious Ancestors would cease to be
Degraded by a worthless Progeny.
None should from noble Blood their Lineage trace,
Unless they added Lustre to their Race.
That the degen'rate Off--spring of the Great
Might be no more a Burden to the State;
The Sons of Peers, with mean, ignoble Hearts,
In Holland should be taught mechanic Arts;
And Boys of Genius to those Honours soar,
Which high--born Dunces but disgrac'd before:
See Nature, thus, the gen'rous Juice divide;
The Spirit rises, and the Dregs subside.
Thus modell'd, we may hope for happier Times;
Our Isle will be rever'd by distant Climes:
And, lest Posterity should think us rude,
And lost, at once, to Shame and Gratitude;
A Patriot Race shall sing the Drapier's Praise,
And civic Crowns fhall mingle with His Bays:
Nor shall His Works alone His Worth proclaim,
(Tho' none, like those, can eternize His Name)
His Statue shall be rais'd in ev'ry Street,
With proud Oppression, writhing at His Feet;
At his Right--hand fair Liberty shall smile,
Protected by the Guardian of our Isle;
On t'other Side, the Goddess Fame shall stand,
With His immortal Labours in her Hand:
Then shall each gen'rous Youth, who passes by,
And sees the Patriot's Image, plac'd on high,
With Emulation feel his Bosom fir'd,
And thus break forth, by Gratitude inspir'd.
``O Thou, whose Genius rose, to save the State,
``And snatch Thy Country from the Brink of Fate!
``When for Thy Life Hibernia sues in vain,
``And Heav'n no longer will Thy Crown detain;
``Her grateful Sons, already rob'd in White,
``Shall hail Thee, glorious, in the Realms of Light.
poem by Mary Barber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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