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Poem for the Day

Posted: 24 November 2013

Summer's a pleasant time
Flowers o' ev'ry colour,
The water rins ower the heugh,
And I long for my true lover.

When I sleep I dream,
When I wauk I'm eerie,
Sleep I can get nane
For thinkin' o' my dearie.

Lanely nicht comes on
A' the lave are sleepin',
I think on my true love
And bleer my een wi' greetin'.

Aye waukin', O
Waukin' aye and weary,
Sleep I can get nane
For thinkin' o' my dearie.
Aye waukin' O!

Aye Waukin' O
Robert Burns

Poem for the Day

Posted: 23 November 2013

It's all because we're so alike
Twin souls, we two.
We smile at the expression, yes,
And know it's true.

I told the shrink. He gave our love
A different name.
But he can call it what he likes-
It's still the same.

I long to see you, hear your voice,
My narcissistic object-choice.

As Sweet
Wendy Cope

Poem for the Day

Posted: 22 November 2013

My love is like Mies van der Rohe's
'Machine for living'; she,
Divested of her underclothes,
Suggests efficiency.

Her supple shoulders call to mind
A set of bevelled gears;
Her lower jaw has been aligned
To hinge behind her ears.

Her hips, sweet ball and socket joints,
Are padded to perfection;
Each knee, with its patella, points
In just the right direction.

Her fingertips remind me of
A digital computer;
She couldn't be, my well-tooled love,
A millimeter cuter.

Dea Ex Machina
John Updike

Poem for the Day

Posted: 21 November 2013

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part,
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,

Now, if thou wouldst, when all have giv'n him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.

Love's Farewell
Michael Drayton

Poem for the Day

Posted: 20 November 2013

Up in the morning`s no for me,
Up in the mornings early;
When a` the hills are cover`d wi` snaw,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud shrill`s I hear the blast,
I`m sure it`s winters fairly.

The birds sit chittering on the the thorn,
A` day they fare but sparely;
And lang`s the night frae e`en to morn,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.

Up in the Morning Early
Robert Burns

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