I shall do the same....good night! xOriginally Posted by emmilou
I shall do the same....good night! x
another one bites the dust!
Now im going to have that song in my head all night.....bloody ultra tri babe.
Nee bother here just covered in dust
Surprised Han hasnee told me off wi this one
Last edited by Nee Bother; 21-11-2008 at 12:59 AM.
Now im going to have that song in my head all night.....bloody ultra tri babe.
night
Don't start on the "stay up latest" game.. I always lose and then feel like crap the next day!!!
if I logged on every time I got no sleep you'd all lose!!
Just to throw some quality into the dubious 'poetry' so far served up
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
I prefer a bit of Wilfred Owen and his mate Sasoon, they can tell it like it is.
Good one Stolly. In a different mood he also wrote this, one of my favouritesJust to throw some quality into the dubious 'poetry' so far served up
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
The Children
1914-1918
('The Honours of War' - A Diversity of Creatures)
These were our children who died for our lands; they were dear in our sight.
We have only the memory left of their home-treasured sayings and laughter.
The price of our loss shall be paid to our hands, but not to another's hereafter.
Neither Alien nor Priest shall decide on it. That is our right.
But who shall return us the children?
At the hour the barbarian chose to disclose his pretences,
And raged against Man, they engaged, on the breasts that they bared for us,
The first felon-stroke of the sword he had long-time prepared for us -
Their bodies were all our defence while we wrought our defences.
They brought us anew with their blood, forbearing to blame us.
Those hours which we had not made good when the judgement o'ercame us. They believed us and perished for it. Our statecraft, our learning Delivered them bound to the Pit and alive to the burning
Whither they mirthfully hastened as jostling for honour -
Not since her birth has our Earth seen such worth loosed upon her.
Nor was their agony brief, or once only imposed on them.
The wounded, the war-spent, the sick received no exemption:
Being cured, they returned and endured and achieved our redemption. Hopeless themselves of relief, till death, marvelling, closed on them.
That flesh we had nursed from the first in all cleanness was given
To corruption unveiled and assailed by the malice of Heaven -
By the heart-shaking jests of Decay where it lolled on the wires -
To be blanched or gay-painted by fumes - to be cindered by fires -
To be senselessly tossed and re-tossed in stale mutilation
From crater to crater. For this we shall take expiation.
But who shall return us our children?
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