That's lovely. You should be proud of her.
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Been a long day.....
The Day Is Done
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet.
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
Henry Longfellow
Panties
She wanted embroidered on her panies and bra
a message that told him that he'd gone too far.
A motif that told him "If you can read this,
you're much too close, so give it a miss."
"Certainly Modom," the saleslady said.
"In what kind of script would you like it read?
Copperplate? San Serif? Bold wouldn't fail."
She thought for a moment and then she said… "Braille."
Copyright; Roger Wooller
First time I've cited someone else's poetry, but here goes. Got my own reasons for citing this but when I heard Sam Baker singing this it brought a tear or two.
Waves
So many years, so many hardships
So many laughs, so many tears
So many things to remember
'cos they had fifty years
And now our kids got their own kids
And their own kids have grown
She told him not to worry
Said he'd be fine when she was gone
He walks down to the ocean
Bends to touch the water, kneels to pray
Writes her name in the sand
The waves wash it away
Oooo I just read this and it sent a few shivers down the ol spine....macbeth's reaction to the death of his wife....
Macbeth:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28