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The Super Hostess
It was as a little child
And one who was very shy
That I first looked at the sky.
Soon enough I started wondering and asking myself
C K Rawat
Way To Go
She was born in the hills
dotted with villages quiet and small.
Her village was breathtakingly beautiful
With a scenic landscape,
C K Rawat
Years I had been from home,
And now, before the door
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
The room is full of you!-As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!-
Edna St. Vincent Millay
A Servant To Servants
I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
A state of selflessness
The home of true love
Where compassion lives
The soul that lives for others
Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has taken flight,
By a sure voice that can most sweetly tell,
How far off yet a glimpse of morning light,
And if to lure the truant back be well,
Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Before him not the ghost of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.
The Searching Soul.
Slowly slowly my heart is drifting away
I don’t seem to understand anything anymore
Since you left to unknown
Your voice is all I want to hear
In The Rain
In the rain,
Where laughter and frown smeared our faces
As the pomegranate failed to bud.
And with shuddering kneels we carried the basket of uncertainty home
Some sigh for this and that,
My wishes don't go far;
The world may wag at will,
So I have my cigar.
The knight came home from the quest,
Muddied and sore he came.
Battered of shield and crest,
Bannerless, bruised and lame.
I only dream of a future,
Where you alone could belong in.
Where you alone could be my lover,
Where loving you is not a sin.
Because You Were A Fool
To my childhood love....
How many times we stared at one another,
We smiled babishly but scared to touch,
We sat at angles we'd glance at the other,
The Appointed Time
Yet though a man gets many wounds in breast,
He dieth not, unless the appointed time,
The limit of his life's span, coincide;
Nor does the man who by the hearth at home
Used to come and visit me
But now I see you pass the other side
We used to sit yonder that tree
But you have sent me away from it any more
"Blessed be the English and all their ways and works.
Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!"
"Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie
Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by,
What Would Freud Say?
Wasn't on purpose that I drilled
through my finger or the nurse
laughed. She apologized
three times and gave me a shot
Love oh love,
You are sweeter than honey.
You make things easy without money;
Everything smiles at where there is love
The Norman Boy
High on a broad unfertile tract of forest-skirted Down,
Nor kept by Nature for herself, nor made by man his own,
From home and company remote and every playful joy,
Served, tending a few sheep and goats, a ragged Norman Boy.
The Man To Be
Some day the world will need a man of courage in a time of doubt,
And somewhere, as a little boy, that future hero plays about.
Within some humble home, no doubt, that instrument of greater things
Now climbs upon his father's knee or to his mother's garments clings.
Edgar Albert Guest
From dusk till dawn,
I picture those eyes.
Of you I keep dreaming on,
To unite both our lives.
Have You Forgotten?
Have you forgotten how one Summer night
We wandered forth together with the moon,
While warm winds hummed to us a sleepy tune?
Have you forgotten how you praised both light
The sky is now cloudy
The wind has started to blow up
The birds are flying away in their homes
The tunder is ringing now
The longer I live and the more I see
Of the struggle of souls towards the heights above,
The stronger this truth comes home to me---
That the Universe rests on the shoulders of love,
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing:-'Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover
And your English summer's done.'
I remember the story of that great person
who fought for our freedom and was great,
who was against the partition
but not against the Muslim .