London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
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Asian said:
I was in work, in their new building, walking along i get into the lift, i go to push a button to close the door, and before the doors connect G walks in (Amercian Pindo) he's standing their wearing a Lepard print suit
as we go up, the lift stops, its broken. i sit on the floor and wait for a tech to fix it, all of a sudden their is a loud thud on the top of the lift, the top is riped open and SK belays himself down dressed like something out of the matrix, he lifts G into his ghoodie and takes him out the lift. g kisses SK on the cheek and says "my Hero"
the lift doors then open to a field, their is a huge mountain and a lake on the side, i see Cutefriend hearding sheep. he's dressed in Orange Speedos. he throws the sheep into the lake and starts making them swimm from one side to another. i turn to see W.O.L on the side, he has a dupatta attached to his back and is floating around shouting i'am a butterfly
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
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Thaw
OVER the land half freckled with snow half-thawed The speculating rooks at their nests cawed, And saw from elm-tops, delicate as a flower of grass, What we below could not see, Winter pass.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
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Cock-Crow
OUT of the wood of thoughts that grows by night To be cut down by the sharp ax of light,-- Out of the night, two cocks together crow, Cleaving the darkness with a silver blow: And brought before my eyes twin trumpeters stand, Heralds of splendor, one at either hand, Each facing each as in a coat of arms:-- The milkers lace their boots up at the farms.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
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If I Should Ever by Chance
IF I should ever by chance grow rich I'll buy Codham, Cockridden, and Childerditch, Roses, Pyrgo, and Lapwater, And let them all to my eldest daughter. The rent I shall ask of her will be only Each year's first violets, white and lonely, The first primroses and orchises-- She must find them before I do, that is. But if she finds a blossom on furze Without rent they shall all forever be hers, Codham, Cockridden, and Childerditch, Roses, Pyrgo, and Lapwater,-- I shall give them all to my elder daughter.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
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The Long Small Room
THE long small room that showed willows in the west Narrowed up to the end the fireplace filled, Although not wide. I liked it. No one guessed What need or accident made them so build.
Only the moon, the mouse, and the sparrow peeped In from the ivy round the casement thick. Of all they saw and heard there they shall keep The tale for the old ivy and older brick.
When I look back I am like moon, sparrow, and mouse That witnessed what they could never understand Or alter or prevent in the dark house. One thing remains the same--this is my right hand
Crawling crab-like over the clean white page, Resting awhile each morning on the pillow, Then once more starting to crawl on towards age. The hundred last leaves stream upon the willow.
Edward Thomas
Tall Nettles
TALL nettles cover up, as they have done These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough Long worn out, and the roller made of stone: Only the elm butt tops the nettles now.
This corner of the farmyard I like most: As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
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Lights Out
I HAVE come to the borders of sleep, The unfathomable deep Forest where all must lose Their way, however straight, Or winding, soon or late; They cannot choose.
Many a road and track That, since the dawn's first crack, Up to the forest brink, Deceived the travellers, Suddenly now blurs, And in they sink.
Here love ends, Despair, ambition ends, All pleasure and all trouble, Although most sweet or bitter, Here ends in sleep that is sweeter Than tasks most noble.
There is not any book Or face of dearest look That I would not turn from now To go into the unknown I must enter and leave alone I know not how.
The tall forest towers; Its cloudy foliage lowers Ahead, shelf above shelf; Its silence I hear and obey That I may lose my way And myself.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
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United Kingdom, United Kingdom
The Path
RUNNING along a bank, a parapet That saves from the precipitous wood below The level road, there is a path. It serves Children for looking down the long smooth steep, Between the legs of beech and yew, to where A fallen tree checks the sight: while men and women Content themselves with the road and what they see Over the bank, and what the children tell. The path, winding like silver, trickles on, Bordered and even invaded by thinnest moss That tries to cover roots and crumbling chalk With gold, olive, and emerald, but in vain. The children wear it. They have flattened the bank On top, and silvered it between the moss With the current of their feet, year after year. But the road is houseless, and leads not to school. To see a child is rare there, and the eye Has but the road, the wood that overhangs And underyawns it, and the path that looks As if it led on to some legendary Or fancied place where men have wished to go And stay; till, sudden, it ends where the wood ends.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
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The Owl
DOWNHILL I came, hungry, and yet not starved, Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof Against the north wind; tired, yet so that rest Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest, Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I. All of the night was quite barred out except An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry.
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill No merry note, nor cause of merriment, But one telling me plain what I escaped And others could not, that night, as in I went.
And salted was my food, and my repose, Salted and sobered too, by the bird's voice Speaking for all who lay under the stars, Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
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United Kingdom, United Kingdom
A Fleeting Passion
THOU shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp, Let's grimly kiss with bated breath; As quietly and solemnly As Life when it is kissing Death. Now in the silence of the grave, My hand is squeezing that soft breast; While thou dost in such passion lie, It mocks me with its look of rest.
But when the morning comes at last, And we must part, our passions cold, You'll think of some new feather, scarf To buy with my small piece of gold; And I'll be dreaming of green lanes, Where little things with beating hearts Hold shining eyes between the leaves, Till men with horses pass, and carts.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
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Location:
United Kingdom, United Kingdom
The Likeness
When I came forth this morn I saw Quite twenty cloudlets in the air; And then I saw a flock of sheep, Which told me how these clouds came there.
That flock of sheep, on that green grass, Well might it lie so still and proud! Its likeness had been drawn in heaven, On a blue sky, in silvery cloud.
I gazed me up, I gazed me down, And swore, though good the likeness was, 'Twas a long way from justice done To such white wool, such sparkling grass.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
Points: 0
Location:
United Kingdom, United Kingdom
Ale
NOW do I hear thee weep and groan, Who hath a comrade sunk at sea? Then quaff thee of my good old ale, And it will raise him up for thee; Thoul't think as little of him then As when he moved with living men.
If thou hast hopes to move the world, And every effort it doth fail, Then to thy side call Jack and Jim, And bid them drink with thee good ale; So may the world, that would not hear, Perish in hell with all your care.
One quart of good ale, and I Feel then what life immortal is: The brain is empty of all thought, The heart is brimming o'er with bliss; Time's first child, Life, doth live; but Death, The second, hath not yet his breath.
Give me a quart of good old ale, Am I a homeless man on earth? Nay, I want not your roof and quilt, I'll lie warm at the moon's cold hearth; No grumbling ghost to grudge my bed, His grave, ha! ha! holds up my head.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
Points: 0
Location:
United Kingdom, United Kingdom
No Master
INDEED this is the sweet life! my hand Is under no proud man's command; There is no voice to break my rest Before a bird has left its nest; There is no man to change my mood, When I go nutting in the wood; No man to pluck my sleeve and say -- I want thy labour for this day; No man to keep me out of sight, When that dear Sun is shining bright. None but my friends shall have command Upon my time, my heart and hand; I'll rise from sleep to help a friend, But let no stranger orders send, Or hear my curses fast and thick, Which in his purse-proud throat would stick Like burrs. If I cannot be free To do such work as pleases me, Near woodland pools and under trees, You'll get no work at all, for I Would rather live this life and die A beggar or a thief, than be A working slave with no days free.
London_Girl
Age: 124
6854 days old here
Total Posts: 18948
Points: 0
Location:
United Kingdom, United Kingdom
Rich Days
WELCOME to you rich Autumn days, Ere comes the cold, leaf-picking wind; When golden stocks are seen in fields, All standing arm-in-arm entwined; And gallons of sweet cider seen On trees in apples red and green.
With mellow pears that cheat our teeth, Which melt that tongues may suck them in; With blue-black damsons, yellow plums, Now sweet and soft from stone to skin; And woodnuts rich, to make us go Into the loneliest lanes we know.
koi chahiyey tu batana
