Related quotes: fate is ever pleasant or...

Fate Life Taste Tickle

fate is ever pleasant or fickle
chance casts changes fortunes pickle

grim reaper fells life tickle
with single sweep of well timed sickle

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Went for a ride in a flying shoe,
'Hooray!'
'What fun!'
'It's time we flew!'
Said Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle was captain, Pickle was crew,
And Tickle served coffee and mulligan stew
As higher
And higher
And higher they flew,
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Over the sun and beyond the blue. '
Hold on!'
'Stay in!'
'I hope we do!'
Cried Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Never returned to the world they knew,
And nobody
knows what's
happened to
Dear Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Grim Lullaby

An ode to you, oh quiet child,
Lying so still, broken and defiled,
As blood seeps from your veins,
Traces the tiles,
Tears descend your face,
And to the floor they are exiled.

Hush my sweetheart, don’t you cry,
Grim Reaper’s gonna sing you a lullaby.
And if you don’t suddenly die,
Then Grim Reaper’s gonna give it another try.

You are the moon,
Reflecting all that comes your way,
You are a rock,
Taking hit after hit, day after day,
You are the sun,
Blocked by gloomy storm clouds,
You are the rain,
Free falling into darkness.

Oh,
Hush my sweetheart, don’t you cry,
Grim Reaper’s gonna sing you a lullaby.
And if you don’t suddenly die,
Then Grim Reaper’s gonna give it another try.

Oh no, don’t cry darling,
I’ll sing it again.
Hush my sweetheart, don’t you cry,
Grim Reaper’s gonna sing you a lullaby,
And if you don’t suddenly die,
Then Grim Reaper’s gonna give it another try.

poem by Sai Killam
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Invitation from Death

'Come to my party! ' said the Grim Reaper,
'Death is for free and life's getting cheaper,
There'll be no mercy, there'll be no pardon
For Saddam Hussein or Osama Bin Laden,
Come to my party! ' said the Grim Reaper,
'Bring guns and explosives, life's getting cheaper! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Great Oak Tree

There grew a little flower
'Neath a great oak tree:
When the tempest 'gan to lower
Little heeded she:
No need had she to cower,
For she dreaded not its power -
She was happy in the bower
Of her great oak tree!
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!

When she found that he was fickle,
Was that great oak tree,
She was in a pretty pickle,
As she well might be -
But his gallantries were mickle,
For Death followed with his sickle,
And her tears began to trickle
For her great oak tree!
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!

Said she, "He loved me never,
Did that great oak tree,
But I'm neither rich nor clever,
And so why should he?
But though fate our fortunes sever,
To be constant I'll endeavour,
Ay, for ever and for ever,
To my great oak tree!"
Sing hey,
Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer

Tune - "Go from my window, Love, do."

The sun he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retired to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

The prosperous man is asleep,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempest blow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lies the dear partner of my breast;
Her cares for a moment at rest:
Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lie my sweet babies in her arms;
No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;
But for their sake my heart does ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

I once was by Fortune carest:
I once could relieve the distrest:
Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd
My fate will scarce bestow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear-
O, wither would they go!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

O whither, O whither shall I turn!
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!
For, in this world, Rest or Peace
I never more shall know!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

poem by Robert Burns
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Fickle Fingers Of Fate

The fickle fingers of fate befalls us
everyday of our lives.
Sometimes it brings us happiness,
other times it brings us misery.
Sometimes it brings us love,
other times it breaks our heart.
The fickle fingers of fate befalls us
in everything we do.
Our actions are governed
by its fickle fingers
day and night
in what we do and say.
Its waywardness leads us
down roads we should not go
or to mountains too high to climb.
It can lead us to valleys
where tranquillity lay
and to lives peaceful.
The fickle fingers of fate
will lead us as it may,
making up decisions right or wrong.
We are its puppet on a string
as the fickle fingers of fate controls
our destiny come what may.

30 August 2009

poem by David Harris
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Old Mother Nature's One Powerful Device

The oil beneath land began to run out,
So they decided to look under the sea,
To do this, the laws of nature they flout,
Their black gold they just had to free.

They kept on drilling but nothing was found,
So they decided to go down even deeper,
To a place that was so far underground,
They eventually found the grim reaper.

He said you're in an area you can't control,
What will you do if something goes wrong?
The oil barons said we're now on a roll,
Extracting oil is where we belong.

Suddenly their drill went through the ocean floor,
We've done it they were heard to cry,
The grim reaper said, you've breached the Earths core,
I'm afraid you're all now going to die.

You've went much deeper than you ever planned,
They said we needed to put in our well,
The reaper replied you'll now be well tanned,
For you've opened up the gates of Hell.

There was no crude oil just a toxic mass,
Red hot lava then boiled the ocean,
The atmosphere was filled with a poisonous gas,
For life on Earth there was no magic potion.

You wouldn't jump in a hole or cross the road blind,
Without taking heed of the dangers,
Digging a hole not knowing what you'll find,
Is like dining with poisonous strangers.

Greed for the black stuff has now sealed your fate,
For your incompetence you've paid the ultimate price,
The balance of life you refused to placate,

‘' Old Mother Nature's One Powerful Device ‘'

poem by Bri Mar
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Ode to A Sour Pickle

Ode to a sour pickle,
To pucker up your puss.
Lay down a shiny nickel,
Come on, don't be a wuss.

The heck with kosher dills,
And sweet little pickles too.
It's sour pickles for your gills,
Can't take a thing in lieu.

A big ole sour pickle,
Will bring on a grimace.
Where they're concerned I'm fickle,
Please bear me no malice.

12/23/10 Alton Texas

poem by by unknown author
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Hope – We Will Get One More Chance Again

Arrived, an unfortunate day, never imagined, never thought
Humanly activities, abruptly paused.
Many lost the battle of life, many, forced to be locked in dwellings
Deaths and imprisonment, seems like a punishment given by God.

Outside, the grim reaper grins
So, trapped in the houses, repenting for the sins
Distressed, forlorn, can't do anything, have to accept
May be one day, mercy will come and wash away the mental pain, the wounds from the skin.

Our deeds are falling on us, like the drops of acid rain.
But, maybe one day, will be gone, all desperation, all the pain
As we hurt mother nature and Lord, so, repent, let them calm down.
And surely, we will get one more chance again.

We will get one more chance again,
To erase the degeneracy from the soul.
We will get one more chance again,
To show love to the nature, which we never shown .
We will get one more chance again,
To relish the beauty of life.
We will get one more chance again,
To revive the humanity buried inside.

poem by Saarthak Haldar
Submitted by anonym
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Somewhere with the grimreaper (new version of somewhere over the rainbow)

Somewhere with the grimreaper
Where thorns thrive!
There's a place I’ve seen
In a nightmare.

Somewhere with the grim reaper
Death shall come,
And the things you dare to do
You really do, do here

Someday I’ll hear a knock
And go to the door and find,
Death
Where dreams melt like candlewax
Way above the rose’s thorns
That’s where I’m lost

Somewhere with the grim reaper
Bluebirds die
Blood flys over the nightmare
Why then, why can’t I die
Someday I’ll hear a knock
And go to the window and see
Death
Where troubles melt like candle wax
Away above the rose’s thorns
That’s where I’m lost

Somewhere with the grim reaper
Bluebirds die.
Blood flys over the nightmare
Why then, oh why can’t I die?

If sorrow fills the world
Beyond this place
Then why can’t I die?

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Raindrops

Raindrops running down my windows,
like the tears of God.
They speak of many things to me.
The sadness and sorrow,
of another passing year.

They speak of tragedies,
which have befallen,
our brothers and sisters
in all the far distant lands,
by the sweep of the Grim Reaper’s hands.

(18 June 2007)

poem by David Harris
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Birthday Honours

My natal day was yesterday;
And so I said to Fate,
'What gifts bring you, by one, by two,
To ease my parlous state?'
'I proffer blindly,' Fate replied,
From chance-found joys and ills.
For you, the 'flu; and this beside,
A sheaf of monthly bills.'

My natal day was yesterday;
And so I said to Chance,
'What gifts bring you, by one, by two,
My fortunes to enhance?'
Said Chance, 'I bring no obvious thing.
Unguessed escape bring I
From dangers rife alway in life
That closely pass you by.'

My natal day was yesterday;
And so I said to Life,
'What gifts bring you, by one, by two,
To salve me in the strife?'
But Life said, 'Nought. Long since I brought
My gifts, glum misanthrope;
And these for you I here renew;
Myself and human hope.'

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A bad reaper never gets a good sickle.

Gaelic proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Agricultural, Implements and Machinery

Poor laborers, they did sad bewail,
When the machine displaced the flail ;
Theres little work, now, with the hoes,
Since cultivators weed the rows.

Labor it became more fickle
When the scythe took place of sickle ;
Labor still it did sink lower
By introduction of mower ;

And the work was done much cheaper
When they added on the reaper.
Another machine to it they join,
Mower, reaper, binder, they combine.

Machines now load and stow away
Both the barley and the hay,
And the farmers do get richer
With the loader and the pitcher.

Theres little work now for the hoes,
Since cultivators weed the rows ;
They sow and rake by the machine-
Hand labor's 'mong the things have been.

Armed with scythes, the old war chariot
Cut down men in the fierce war riot ;
Round farmer's chariot falls the slain,
But 'tis the sheaves of golden grain.

This harvest, now, of eighty-four,
Will great wealth on farmers pour,
For there is abundant yield
Of fruitful crops in every field.

poem by James McIntyre
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The Puckering Pickle Parade!

In a place called Pizanna,
Miss Lana-Leeanna
Makes a lip-locking lemonade!
But the bittersweet bounty
Of Cucumber County
Is the Puckering Pickle Parade! ! !

A tart and tangy tango,
Marsh moon like a mango,
As vinegar vapors invade...
Boy, the bittersweet bounty
Of Cucumber County
Is the Puckering Pickle Parade! ! !

So befriend and embellish,
Come garnish and relish,
The gherkins of Gooseberry Glade!
It's the pride and pure power,
(The sweet and the sour)
Of the Puckering Pickle Parade!

The Puckering Pickle Parade...
The Puckering Pickle Parade...
Pulp times are had...
Dill friends are made...
At the Puckering Pickle...
Pick three for a nickel...
The Puckering Pickle Parade! ! !

When it's one-fourteen in the shade...
Oh the bittersweet bounty
Of Cucumber County
Is the Puckering Pickle Parade! ! !

From the new book 'The Puckering Pickle Parade: And Other Read Aloud Poems4Kids' by Todd St. Pierre

See www.LouisianaBoy.com

poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mutability

When I bethink me on that speech whilere,
Of Mutability, and well it weigh:
Me seems,that though she all unworthy were
Of the Heav'ns Rule; yet very sooth to say,
In all things else she bears the greatest sway.
Which makes me loathe this state of life so tickle,
And love of things so vain to cast away;
Whose flow'ring pride, so fading and so fickle,
Short Time shall soon cut down with his consuming sickle.

Then gin I think on that which Nature said.
Of that same time when no more Change shall be,
But steadfast rest of all things firmly stayed
Upon the pillars of Eternity,
That is contrare to Mutability:
For, all that moveth, doth in Change delight:
But thence-forth all shall rest eternally
With Him that is the God of Sabbaoth hight:
O that great Sabbaoth God, grant me that Sabbaoth's sight.

poem by Edmund Spenser
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Just One More Dead Hero

So much about his courage we have heard of and read
So sad about the brave man so sad to hear he's dead
A decorated soldier from a war far away
The Reaper claimed the life from him suppose he had his day
One the nationalists and patriots used to celebrate
But with the coward and the traitor he shared a common fate
Not one to respect money or bravery or fame
To the Reaper the life of the coward and the hero are equal and the same
Though memories of the man he was will take some time to fade
Next year he won't be around to march in the war veterans parade
Ninety two when he died his best days long gone
Just one more dead hero and life does go on
The coward and the hero and those of wealth and fame
Are made equal by the Reaper he treats them as the same.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Resolved to say nothing (Terzanelle)

What I have learned to know
I will forever keep with me
to no one, of it I will show

something, and hidden it will be
and to others it will stay unknown.
I will forever keep with me,

even if my wife quarrel and moan
where my vision range to the beyond
and to others it will stay unknown.

I will keep to my word, my oath and my bond
even when the grim reaper comes to collect his toll
where my vision range to the beyond,

not even to the most beautiful doll,
I will show nobody what I see,
even when the grim reaper comes to collect his toll

and in honesty, integrity and truth I will stay free.
What I have learned to know
I will show nobody what I see
to no one, of it I will show.

poem by Gert Strydom
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We All Are Only Here

We all are only here on a life's journey
A journey that will have an end one day
A journey that for all will have an ending
Whether we travel far from home or at home stay.

The reaper is the champion egalatarian
For he treats everybody as the same
He does not bow to president or monarch
Or draw distinctions between anonymity and fame.

Humans are not that different to other life forms
Since we too are only born for to die
The woodlouse who hides under a stone in the garden
In many ways no less a mortal than i.

So many people weighted down by their egos
Success is a thing that can go to the head
But the reaper is the renowned egalatarian
You will not find any egos amongst the dead.

We all are only here on a life's journey
A journey for us one day that must end
Till the reaper claims the last breath of life from us
The reaper to equality a friend.