Little Rosie Lydia arrived today at 0346 and mum and baby are doing well. I've blubbed like a good un at the drop of hat all day and witnessing the birth was just stunning.Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Little Rosie Lydia arrived today at 0346 and mum and baby are doing well. I've blubbed like a good un at the drop of hat all day and witnessing the birth was just stunning.
Awww congratulations to you all! :thumbup:
Congratulations. Life will always be ....now completely different.
Roses are particularly special.
You'll have to start a thread.
Cause not everyone is into poetry.!!!
A Baby Changes Things
A baby changes things;
They’ll never be the same;
Your life is filled with wonder,
Since your little miracle came.
There’s lots of things to do now,
But with the new tasks you face,
Your family gains more love,
And bonds time will never erase.
Congratulations on your new addition!
Aw such wonderful news, a new life is such a wonderful thing! congratulations to you both and welcome to the world little rosie!....
Golden slumbers
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
—Thomas Dekker
ps i never realised that these lyrics were not a product of the beatles!.....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gwt3yXQEZdU
Last edited by freckle; 31-01-2011 at 12:22 AM.
Fabulous news OOP!
Poacher turned game-keeper
Congratulations OOP!
here is another silly one
Gambolling Lambs
Well spring is nearly here
And lambs are gambolling in the field
But with those cloven little hooves
How do you cut to deal?
And do you think that visor
Sits quite right with curly horns?
If that ram is really bluffing
You'll be fleeced instead of shorn.
the lyrical genius of half man, half biscuit (seeing them in sheffield in feb - yay!)
Lord Hereford's Knob
As I camped out one evening to take the midnight air
I heard a maiden grieving from somewhere over there
Who is it you are mourning
For whom do you wear grey
She said I pine for no one, I just can’t pay my way
Ever since the chattering classes invaded Hebden Bridge
And priced the likes of me and mine
To the pots of the Pennine Ridge
To South East Wales I was forced to flee
And now I have no job
That’s why tonight I’m sitting on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
For you I’d waive expenses, to try and help you out
For your beauty influences the landscape hereabouts
Look up my betrothed at Three Cocks
Be sure she’ll see you right
While I go up to Yorkshire, and there avenge your plight
Soon reports were filtering through to me
The pair were drowning in bliss
I can’t recall having ever been cuckolded quite like this
I gave up hope ironically for Lent
Come see me living in a bivvie
If you’re ever up Pen-y-Ghent
Although upon reflection I’ve been a trifle green
I still think with affection on everything that’s been
So prepare that fatted calf
And string up the bunting gay
Your brisk and bonny ploughboy is coming home today
And tonight he’ll be sitting on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
Tonight he’ll be sitting on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
On touching the trig point, I found my thrill
To the east Brokeback Mountain, to the west, Benny Hill
I’ll give you the grid ref, you might like to go
SO224350
Could this be heaven, would that be the Severn
Twmpa, Twmpa, you’re gonna need a jumper
It gets a bit chilly on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
Tonight he’ll be sitting on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
All of our songs sound the same
Tonight he’ll be sitting on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
I’m keeping Two Chevrons Apart
Tonight he’ll be sitting on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
You’re the reason why paradise lost
Tonight he’ll be sitting on top of Lord Hereford’s Knob
Congratulations to you and Mrs Oop and welcome to the world Rosie !
For ALL of us with daughters
A Prayer for My Daughter
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory's Wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack and roof-levelling wind,
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.
I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour,
And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
And under the arches of the bridge, and scream
In the elms above the flooded stream;
Imagining in excited reverie
That the future years had come
Dancing to a frenzied drum
Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
May she be granted beauty, and yet not
Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass; for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness, and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy
That chooses right, and never find a friend.
Helen, being chosen, found life flat and dull,
And later had much trouble from a fool;
While that great Queen that rose out of the spray,
Being fatherless, could have her way,
Yet chose a bandy-leggèd smith for man.
It's certain that fine women eat
A crazy salad with their meat
Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone.
In courtesy I'd have her chiefly learned;
Hearts are not had as a gift, but hearts are earned
By those that are not entirely beautiful.
Yet many, that have played the fool
For beauty's very self, has charm made wise;
And many a poor man that has roved,
Loved and thought himself beloved,
From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
May she become a flourishing hidden tree,
That all her thoughts may like the linnet be,
And have no business but dispensing round
Their magnanimities of sound;
Nor but in merriment begin a chase,
Nor but in merriment a quarrel.
Oh, may she live like some green laurel
Rooted in one dear perpetual place.
My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.
If there's no hatred in a mind
Assault and battery of the wind
Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
An intellectual hatred is the worst,
So let her think opinions are accursed.
Have I not seen the loveliest woman born
Out of the mouth of Plenty's horn,
Because of her opinionated mind
Barter that horn and every good
By quiet natures understood
For an old bellows full of angry wind?
Considering that, all hatred driven hence,
The soul recovers radical innocence
And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,
And that its own sweet will is heaven's will,
She can, though every face should scowl
And every windy quarter howl
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.
And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
Where all's accustomed, ceremonious;
For arrogance and hatred are the wares
Peddled in the thoroughfares.
How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree.
W.B. Yeats
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