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Poem for the Day

Posted: 1 August 2014

Days fly by on holidays,
they escape like birds
release from cages.
What a shame you can’t buy
tokens of time, save them up
and lengthen the good days,
or maybe you could tear out time
from days the drag, then pay it back ...
on holidays, wild days,
days you wish would last forever.
You could wear these days with pride,
fasten them like poppies to you coat,
or keep them in a tin, like sweets,
a confection of days to be held on the tongues
and tasted, now and then.

Days
Brian Moses

Quote for the Day

Posted: 1 August 2014

"A great many people think they are thinking when they are actually rearranging their prejudices."
William James

Poem for the Day

Posted: 31 July 2014

For those who may think that this is a quaint wee bit of verse about a mouse, think again.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
...
I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell -
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

To A Mouse
Robert Burns

Quote for the Day

Posted: 31 July 2014

"Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn."
Robert Burns

Poem for the Day

Posted: 30 July 2014

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups. ...

The Duck
Ogden Nash

181-185 of 841 blog entries

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