I suppose we all need to get out more Boris, me included..............:laugh::laugh::laugh:

:colour:

Think I would be a great disappointment to my English 'A' level teacher if he knew what I had posted on a poetry thread !:blush:(....and I studied it as an adult)

http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/images...Hiaw/LonH1.gif

Hiawatha's Departure

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1855

By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.
All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth was bright and joyous,
And before him, through the sunshine,
Westward toward the neighboring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the honey-makers,
Burning, singing In the sunshine.
Bright above him shone the heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon,
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.
From the brow of Hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow,
As the fog from off the water,
As the mist from off the meadow.
With a smile of joy and triumph,
With a look of exultation,
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be, but is not,
Stood and waited Hiawatha.
Toward the sun his hands were lifted,
Both the palms spread out against it,
And between the parted fingers
Fell the sunshine on his features,
Flecked with light his naked shoulders,
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree
Through the rifted leaves and branches.
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Was it Shingebis the diver?
Or the pelican, the Shada?
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa,
With the water dripping, flashing,
From its glossy neck and feathers?
It was neither goose nor diver,
Neither pelican nor heron,
O'er the water floating, flying,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But a birch canoe with paddles,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine;
And within it came a people
From the distant land of Wabun,
From the farthest realms of morning
Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face,
With his guides and his companions.
And the noble Hiawatha,
With his hands aloft extended,
Held aloft in sign of welcome,
Waited, full of exultation,
Till the birch canoe with paddles
Grated on the shining pebbles,
Stranded on the sandy margin,
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
With the cross upon his bosom,
Landed on the sandy margin.
Then the joyous Hiawatha
Cried aloud and spake in this wise:
"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers,
When you come so far to see us!
All our town in peace awaits you,
All our doors stand open for you;
You shall enter all our wigwams,
For the heart's right hand we give you.
"Never bloomed the earth so gayly,
Never shone the sun so brightly,
As to-day they shine and blossom
When you come so far to see us!
Never was our lake so tranquil,
Nor so free from rocks, and sand-bars;
For your birch canoe in passing
Has removed both rock and sand-bar.
"Never before had our tobacco
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor,
Never the broad leaves of our cornfields
Were so beautiful to look on,
As they seem to us this morning,
When you come so far to see us!'
And the Black-Robe chief made answer,
Stammered In his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar:
"Peace be with you, Hiawatha,
Peace be with you and your people,
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon,
Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary!"
Then the generous Hiawatha
Led the strangers to his wigwam,
Seated them on skins of bison,
Seated them on skins of ermine,
And the careful old Nokomis
Brought them food in bowls of basswood,
Water brought in birchen dippers,
And the calumet, the peace-pipe,
Filled and lighted for their smoking.
All the old men of the village,
All the warriors of the nation,
All the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,
The magicians, the Wabenos,
And the Medicine-men, the Medas,
Came to bid the strangers welcome;
"It is well", they said, "O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"
In a circle round the doorway,
With their pipes they sat In silence,
Waiting to behold the strangers,
Waiting to receive their message;
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,
From the wigwam came to greet them,
Stammering in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar;
"It Is well," they said, "O brother,
That you come so far to see us!"
Then the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,
Told his message to the people,
Told the purport of his mission,
Told them of the Virgin Mary,
And her blessed Son, the Saviour,
How in distant lands and ages
He had lived on earth as we do;
How he fasted, prayed, and labored;
How the Jews, the tribe accursed,
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him;
How he rose from where they laid him,
Walked again with his disciples,
And ascended into heaven.
And the chiefs made answer, saying:
"We have listened to your message,
We have heard your words of wisdom,
We will think on what you tell us.
It is well for us, O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"
Then they rose up and departed
Each one homeward to his wigwam,
To the young men and the women
Told the story of the strangers
Whom the Master of Life had sent them
From the shining land of Wabun.
Heavy with the heat and silence
Grew the afternoon of Summer;
With a drowsy sound the forest
Whispered round the sultry wigwam,
With a sound of sleep the water
Rippled on the beach below it;
From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;
And the guests of Hiawatha,
Weary with the heat of Summer,
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam.
Slowly o'er the simmering landscape
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness,
And the long and level sunbeams
Shot their spears into the forest,
Breaking through its shields of shadow,
Rushed into each secret ambush,
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow;
Still the guests of Hiawatha
Slumbered In the silent wigwam.
From his place rose Hiawatha,
Bade farewell to old Nokomis,
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,
Did not wake the guests, that slumbered.
"I am going, O Nokomis,
On a long and distant journey,
To the portals of the Sunset.
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin.
But these guests I leave behind me,
In your watch and ward I leave them;
See that never harm comes near them,
See that never fear molests them,
Never danger nor suspicion,
Never want of food or shelter,
In the lodge of Hiawatha!"
Forth into the village went he,
Bade farewell to all the warriors,
Bade farewell to all the young men,
Spake persuading, spake in this wise:
I am going, O my people,
On a long and distant journey;
Many moons and many winters
Will have come, and will have vanished,
Ere I come again to see you.
But my guests I leave behind me;
Listen to their words of wisdom,
Listen to the truth they tell you,
For the Master of Life has sent them
From the land of light and morning!"
On the shore stood Hiawatha,
Turned and waved his hand at parting;
On the clear and luminous water
Launched his birch canoe for sailing,
From the pebbles of the margin
Shoved it forth into the water;
Whispered to it, "Westward! westward!"
And with speed it darted forward.
And the evening sun descending
Set the clouds on fire with redness,
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie,
Left upon the level water
One long track and trail of splendor,
Down whose stream, as down a river,
Westward, westward Hiawatha
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapors,
Sailed into the dusk of evening:
And the people from the margin
Watched him floating, rising, sinking,
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted
High into that sea of splendor,
Till it sank into the vapors
Like the new moon slowly, slowly
Sinking in the purple distance.
And they said, "Farewell forever!"
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the forests, dark and lonely,
Moved through all their depths of darkness,
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the waves upon the margin
Rising, rippling on the pebbles,
Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her haunts among the fen-lands,
Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,.
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter


http://www.arttotheworld.com/Hiawatha-anim.gif

Here is one I found on some very old files of mine.

If Dr Suess wrote computer manuals

Here's an easy game to play
Here's an easy thing to say:

If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port
and the bus is interrupted as a very last resort
and the address of the memory makes your floppy disk abort
then the socket packet pocket has an error to report!

If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash
and the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash
and your data is corrupted 'cause the index doesn't hash
then your situation's hopeless and your system's gonna crash!

You can't say this?
What a shame sir!
We'll find you another game sir.

If the label on the cable on the table at your house
says the network is connected to the button on your mouse
but your packets want to tunnel on another protocol
that's repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall,

And your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss
so your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse
then you may as well reboot and go out with a bang,
'cause as sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang!

When the copy of the floppy's getting sloppy on the disc
and the microcode instructions cause unnecessary RISC
then you have to flash your memory and you'll want to RAM your ROM.
Quickly turn off the computer and be sure to tell your mom!

anon, from the internet.

Definitely one of your better ones sticks old bean. Jolly good!!:laugh:

:colour::colour::colour:
:colour::colour:
:colour:

Here's a very old poem from which my mother used to quote when I was just a wee thing if ever I said to her "I can't do that, Mammy".

The Giant and the Dwarf
(The author is unknown)

As on through life's journey we go day by day,
There are two whom we meet at each turn of the way,
To help or to hinder, to bless or to ban;
And the name of these two are, "I Can't" and "I Can".

"I Can't" is a dwarf, a poor, pale, puny imp;
His eyes are half blind, and his walk is a limp:
He stumbles and falls, or lies writhing with fear,
Though dangers are distant and succour is near.

"I Can" is a giant: unbending he stands;
There is strength in his arms and skill in his hands;
He asks for no favour, he wants but a share
Where labour is honest and wages are fair.

"I Can't" is a sluggard: too lazy to work,
From duty he shrinks, every task he will shirk;
No bread on his board, no meal in his bag,
His house is a ruin, his coat is a rag.

"I Can" is a worker: he tills the broad fields,
And digs from the earth all the wealth which it yields;
The hum of his spindle begins with the light,
And the fires of his forges are blazing all night.

"I Can't" is a coward half fainting with fright.
At the first thought of peril he slinks out of sight;
Skulks and hikes till the noise of the battle is past,
Or sells his best friends, and turns traitor at last.

"I Can" is a hero: the first in the field,
Though others may falter, he never will yield;
He makes the long marches, he deals the last blow,
His charge is the whirlwind that scatters the foe.

How grandly and nobly he stands to his trust!
When, roused at the call of a cause that is just,
He makes the long marches, he deals the last blow,
And writes on his banner the watchword of Truth!

Then up and be doing! the day is not long;
Throw fear to the winds, be patient and strong!
Stand fast in your place, act your part like a man;
And when duty calls, answer promptly, "I can!"

How appropriate your poem is for me this week Mairi. I went on an excellent traning course this week and the 'mantra' extolled urged all to believe 'I CAN'.

SO I am trying !

Here is another small offering for this thread.I have been sorting out songs and rhymes for my 'baby' choir's summer concert ( 25 poppetts aged between 4 and 7) The theme is the seaside...my favourite place and I came across this by an

A.E.Dudley

Four Little Girls

Four little girls on a summer day
Went along the beach to play.
Sandcastles
Seashells
Sea
And sun,
This is the place for holiday fun.

But it rained!

Rain, rain,go away:
Four little girls just want to play.
Away went the clouds. The sun came out.
Four little girls began to shout:
Hooray!

All too soon the day was done:
Four tired and happy little girls went home.
--------------------------------------------


Happy days remembered I think:wavey:

Aaaw, I really enjoyed that little poem, Boris. :wavey:

Cinderella by Roald Dahl




I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
Just to keep the children happy.
Mind you, they got the first bit right,
The bit where, in the dead of night,
The Ugly Sisters, jewels and all,
Departed for the Palace Ball,
While darling little Cinderella
Was locked up in a slimy cellar,
Where rats who wanted things to eat,
Began to nibble at her feet.
She bellowed 'Help!' and 'Let me out!'
The Magic Fairy heard her shout.
Appearing in a blaze of light,
She said, 'My dear, are you all right?'
'All right?' cried Cindy. 'Can't you see
'I feel as rotten as can be!'
She beat her fist against the wall,
And shouted, 'Get me to the Ball!
'There is a Disco at the Palace!
'The rest have gone and I am jealous!
'I want a dress! I want a coach!
'And earrings and a diamond brooch!
'And silver slippers, two of those!
'And lovely nylon panty-hose!
'Done up like that I'll guarantee
'The handsome Prince will fall for me!'
The Fairy said, 'Hang on a tick.'
She gave her wand a mighty flick
And quickly, in no time at all,
Cindy was at the Palace Ball!
It made the Ugly Sisters wince
To see her dancing with the Prince.
She held him very tight and pressed
Herself against his manly chest.
The Prince himself was turned to pulp,
All he could do was gasp and gulp.
Then midnight struck. She shouted, 'Heck!
'I've got to run to save my neck!'
The Prince cried, 'No! Alas! Alack!'
He grabbed her dress to hold her back.
As Cindy shouted, 'Let me go!'
The dress was ripped from head to toe.
She ran out in her underwear,
And lost one slipper on the stair.
The Prince was on it like a dart,
He pressed it to his pounding heart,
'The girl this slipper fits,' he cried,
'Tomorrow morn shall be my bride!
'I'll visit every house in town
'Until I've tracked the maiden down!'
Then rather carelessly, I fear,
He placed it on a crate of beer.
At once, one of the Ugly Sisters,
(The one whose face was blotched with blisters)
Sneaked up and grabbed the dainty shoe,
And quickly flushed it down the loo.
Then in its place she calmly put
The slipper from her own left foot.

Ah-ha, you see, the plot grows thicker,
And Cindy's luck starts looking sicker.

Next day, the Prince went charging down
To knock on all the doors in town.
In every house, the tension grew.
Who was the owner of the shoe?
The shoe was long and very wide.
(A normal foot got lost inside.)
Also it smelled a wee bit icky.
(The owner's feet were hot and sticky.)
Thousands of eager people came
To try it on, but all in vain.
Now came the Ugly Sisters' go.
One tried it on. The Prince screamed, 'No!'
But she screamed, 'Yes! It fits! Whoopee!
'So now you've got to marry me!'
The Prince went white from ear to ear.
He muttered, 'Let me out of here.'
'Oh no you don't! You made a vow!
'There's no way you can back out now!'
'Off with her head!' The Prince roared back
They chopped it off with one big whack.
This pleased the Prince. He smiled and said,
'She's prettier without her head.'
Then up came Sister Number Two,
Who yelled, 'Now I will try the shoe!'
'Try this instead!' the Prince yelled back.
He swung his trusty sword and smack --
Her head went crashing to the ground.
It bounced a bit and rolled around.
In the kitchen, peeling spuds,
Cinderella heard the thuds
Of bouncing heads upon the floor,
And poked her own head round the door.
'What's all the racket?' Cindy cried.
'Mind your own bizz,' the Prince replied.
Poor Cindy's heart was torn to shreds.
My Prince! she thought. He chops off heads!
How could I marry anyone
Who does that sort of thing for fun?
The Prince cried, 'Who's this dirty slut?
'Off with her nut! Off with her nut!'
Just then, all in a blaze of light,
The Magic Fairy hove in sight,
Her Magic Wand went swoosh and swish!
'Cindy!' she cried, 'come make a wish!
'Wish anything and have no doubt
'That I will make it come about!'
Cindy answered, 'Oh kind Fairy,
'This time I shall be more wary.
'No more Princes, no more money.
'I have had my taste of honey.
'I'm wishing for a decent man.
'They're hard to find. D'you think you can?'
Within a minute, Cinderella
Was married to a lovely feller,
A simple jam-maker by trade,
Who sold good home-made marmalade.
Their house was filled with smiles and laughter
And they were happy ever after.

Oh, Woe Ith Me!
by Bruce Lansky
Ath I wath biking
down the thweet,
I hit a bump
and lotht my theat.

I cwathed my bike
into a twee,
I thcwathed my fathe,
oh, woe ith me.

My bike is wecked,
I've no excuthe.
And wortht of all,
my tooth ith looth.

Yes Rob, another little treasure for us all to share ! LOL...veryL


Took a while to read tho' and I'm an expert on such things ....LOL again !:laugh:

If that is a RoB find

BRILLIANT!

If that is a RoB original

BRILLIANT!
BRILLIANT!

Here's one especially for Janette and Susieq :wavey:

Little Boys Again
Sharon Goodman

Little boys are such a pain,
From when they learn to walk,
They're black with dirt and wet with rain
And full of doubletalk.
It seems if you've a problem child,
It follows that he's male,
His sloppiness will drive you wild,
His grades will turn you pale.
He's slicing thumbs and gumming hair,
He's falling out of trees,
From ages five to ten he'll wear
Those bandaids on his knees.
And in his teens it's worse, you know,
He's in the driver's seat -
You hold your breath and watch him go
Careening down the street.
But then he's grown, and suddenly
He's fixing up your car -
He tills your garden when he's free,
He loves you as you are.
His hair is short, his clothes are clean,
His store of knowledge grew -
The best young man you've ever seen -
His girlfriend thinks so, too.
And when the bad you can't condemn,
But treasure all the good,
They give you grandsons just like them,
The way you wished they would.

Hmmmmm

Does anyone else remember this one from their childhood?

The Spider and the Fly
Mary Howitt

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly, "
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do
To prove that warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf;
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say;
And bidding good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, Then near and nearer drew, -
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head - poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlour - but she ne'er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

http://www.gifs.net/animate/web.gif

I remeber that very well Mairi.
In my book it is next to my offering. I have put in the 'whole thing' but it is the last verse that I like the best.

( yes, I know it is a bit soppy and unseasonal to boot, but hey, when you work with little children you can't help getting a bit like that !)

http://www.uselessgraphics.com/sleigh01.gif

Santa Clause
He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
He quickly ,quietly comes;
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
He cuts through the snow like a whip through the foam,
While the white flakes around him whirl,
Who tell’s him, I know not but he finds the home
Of each little good boy and girl.

His sleigh is long, and deep, and wide;
It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the sky,
With sticks sticking under the strings,
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is blown,
As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
And drops to the earth like a stone.

The little red stockings he silently fills,
Till the little red stockings will hold nor more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down in the floor.
Then Santa Clause mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.

He rides to the East, he rides to the West,
Of his goodies he touches not one;
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
When the dear little folk are done.
Old Santa Clause doeth all that he can;
This beautiful mission is his;
So children be good to the little old man,
When you find who the little man is.

Please don't let this little thread die.

Here's another poem I remember from childhood. My brother and I thought it was very silly but we loved it. I've no idea who wrote it, though.

One fine day in the middle of the night
Two dead men got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other
Drew their swords and shot each other

:laugh::laugh::laugh:

Ok, Mairi, you asked for it. Rather old-fashioned these days but it is very clever and very English!

A Subaltern's Love Song
by John Betjeman

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,

Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me !

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh ! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won.
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in,
To the six-o'clock news and a lime juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair,
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads 'not adopted', by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells,
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car-park the dance has begun.
Oh ! Full Surrey twilight ! Importunate band !
Oh ! Strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand !

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us, the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car-park till twenty to one,
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

Aaaww, that's really sweet, Peachy.

I LOVED John Betjeman.

:colour::colour::colour::colour:

This one came from across the pond, apologies for any over-sentimentality
:blush:

HEAVEN'S GROCERY STORE

As I was walking down life's
highway many years ago
I came upon a sign that read Heavens Grocery Store.

When I got a little closer
the doors swung open wide
And when I came to myself
I was standing inside.

I saw a host of angels.
They were standing everywhere
One handed me a basket and said
"My child shop with care."

Everything a human needed
was in that grocery store
And what you could not carry
you could come back for more.

First I got some Patience.
Love was in that same row.
Further down was Understanding,
you need that everywhere you go.

I got a box or two of Wisdom
and Faith a bag or two.
And Charity of course
I would need some of that too.

I couldn't miss the Holy Ghost
It was all over the place.
And then some Strength and Courage to help me run this race.

My basket was getting full but
I remembered I needed Grace,
And then I chose Salvation for
Salvation was for free
I tried to get enough of that
to do for you and me.

Then I started to the counter
to pay my grocery bill,
For I thought I had everything
to do the Masters will.

As I went up the aisle I saw
Prayer and put that in, For I knew when I stepped outside I would run into
sin.

Peace and Joy were plentiful,
the last things on the shelf.
Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself.

Then I said to the angel
"Now how much do I owe?"
He smiled and said
"Just take them everywhere you go."

Again I asked "Really now,
How much do I owe?"
"My child" he said,
"God paid your bill
a long, long time ago."

The Lion and Albert

Marriot Edgar

There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.

A grand little lad was young Albert
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.

They didn't think much to the Ocean
The waves, they were fiddlin' and small
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded
Fact, nothing to laugh at, at all.

So, seeking for further amusement
They paid and went into the zoo
Where they'd lions and tigers and camels
And old ale and sandwiches too.

There were one great big lion called Wallace
His nose were all covered with scars
He lay in a somnolent posture
With the side of his face on the bars.

Now Albert had heard about lions
How they was ferocious and wild
To see Wallace lying so peaceful
Well, it didn't seem right to the child.

So straight 'way the brave little feller
Not showing a morsel of fear
Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle
And shoved it in Wallace's ear.

You could see the lion didn't like it
For giving a kind of a roll
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im
And swallowed the little lad 'ole

Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence
And didn't know what to do next
Said "Mother! Yon lions 'et Albert"
And Mother said "Well, I am vexed!"

Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Quite rightly, when all's said and done
Complained to the Animal Keeper
That the lion had eaten their son.

The keeper was quite nice about it
He said "What a nasty mishap
Are you sure it's your boy he's eaten?"
Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!"

The manager had to be sent for
He came and he said "What's to do?"
Pa said "Yon lion's 'et Albert
And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too."

Then Mother said, "Right's right, young feller
I think it's a shame and a sin
For a lion to go and eat Albert
And after we've paid to come in."

The manager wanted no trouble
He took out his purse right away
Saying "How much to settle the matter?"
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?"

But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone
She said "No! someone's got to be summonsed"
So that was decided upon.

Then off they went to the Police Station
In front of the Magistrate chap
They told 'im what happened to Albert
And proved it by showing his cap.

The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.

At that Mother got proper blazing
"And thank you, sir, kindly," said she
"What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy lions? Not me!"


http://http://www.ex-lancs.com/images/albert1.gif

Love that one Rob.:wavey:

For any of you who have lost a dearly loved pet.

A Pet's Prayer
Author Unknown

If it should be, that I grow frail and weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then, you must do what must be done
For this, the last battle, can't be won.

Don't let your grief stay your hand,
For this day more than the rest,
Your love and friendship stand the test.
We've had so many years,
What is to come can hold no fear.
You'd not want me to suffer, so
When the time comes, please let me go.

Take me where my needs they'll tend,
Only, stay with me to the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you'll see it is a kindness you do for me
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I've been saved.

Don't grieve, it should be you who this thing decides to do.
We've been so close, we two, these years,
Don't let your heart hold tears.
SMILE, FOR WE WALKED TOGETHER FOR AWHILE.

So sad :bawling:


A change of mood required here

The Calf Path
Samuel Foss 1895

One day through the primeval wood a calf walked
home as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,A crooked trail
as all calves do.
Since then thee hundred years have fled,
And, I infer the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail
and thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bell-wether sheep
Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him too,
as good bell-wethers always do.

And from that day, o'er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made.
And many men wound in and out
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because 'twas such a crooked path.
But still they followed - do not laugh -
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding roadway stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane
That bent and turned and turned again;
This crooked lane became a road
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled beneath the burning sun,
And travelled some three miles in one;
And thus a century and a half
they trod in the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street;
And this before men were aware,
A city's crowded thoroughfare.
And soon the central street was this
of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed this zigzag calf about;
And o'er his crooked journey went
The Traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were lead
By one calf near three centuries dead.

They followed still his crooked way,
and lost one hundred years a day;
For thus such a reverence is lent
To well established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach,
Were I ordained and called to preach.

For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf paths of the mind,
and work away from sun to sun,
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the paths that others do.

They keep the path and sacred groove
Along which all their lives they move,
But how the wise old wood gods laugh
Who saw that first primeval calf.
Ah! many things this tale might teach
But I am not ordained to preach

I absolutely loved it, Sticks. Where DID you find it?

:colour: