Moon, you have a shade of blue tonight -
Is it something that you saw or heard?
Only yesterday, your tone was proud and bright:
Yellow silver, full, and so assured.
Moon, despite the clarity of sky,
Metaphors of cloud that fluff with grey
Drift across your rounded face to spy;
Feeding back, there's awfully much to say.
Moon, you have a role to play up there,
We below must bear the earthly pain.
Duty bound, we shoulder sorrows fair -
You are free from our grotesque disdain.
Moon, we depend on you to shine
When the sun retires down below.
Add to that your grandest role divine:
Tidal Lord, to keep the seas in tow!
Moon, I hope you take to heart our plea -
Needless is the reason for your blue.
Beaming, you should give the night its glee:
We're despairing - so we look to you.
:)
:(
:))
:((
=))
=D>
:D
:P
:-O
:-?
:-SS
:-f
d(
:-*
b-(
h-(
g-)
5-p
y-)
c-)
s-)
d-)
w-)
:-h
:X
superb
ResponderEliminarThank you dear Paveen Kumar for visit and read the blogI´m glad that you can enjoy here in the group
ResponderEliminarThank you dear woo, You are very special with all thething that you share with your friend ....I'm sure that everything you write has a message to convey to them, You are a inteligent man, only that it is often difficult to understand for me, but I like being to read everything you write ...
ResponderEliminar:rolleyes: :eyes: You search man friends :left: :right: :faint:
ResponderEliminarOriginally posted by wooj: but the Spanish version gets a slight disadvantage in interpretation:rolleyes: :worried: :awww:
ResponderEliminarOriginally posted by wooj:(mum's) hot cross buns
ResponderEliminar:rolleyes: hummm I like :eyes: :rolleyes:
INGREDIENTES:
• 200 ml. de agua
• 150 ml. de aceite de oliva
• 10 gr. de sal
• 10 gr. de azúcar
• 500 gr. de harina de fuerza (al final he tenido que poner un poco más)
• 25 gr. de levadura de panadero
• Nueces, pasas y matalahuga (la cantidad al gusto de cada uno)
• 1 huevo para pintar los bollos
• Azúcar para decorar
:rolleyes: is a poem :rolleyes: :eyes: :doh: :bye:
Incredible. Nice poem. I love the rhymes.
ResponderEliminarThank you dear Bruce, I'm glad youenjoy with the poem and write yourown poems for the group
ResponderEliminarahh .. :love: the bread and smell good :D thank the recipe & the bread stay with love Dasha & LOL
ResponderEliminarto train-spot or "trainspotting" =a habit unique in Britain where people do often to spot but counting the number of trains passing by at a certain hour ..
ResponderEliminara marque [ when its engine running, "we would turn and run, the hot parts full... ]
ResponderEliminar:) some pics for illustration lol :-(mum's) hot cross buns
ResponderEliminarOriginally posted by kumarpraveentyagi:superbthank you praveen for a visit ..you can add friendship with my old blog @http://my.opera.com/johnhus/blog/
ResponderEliminarHi Emma, I have tried to see the Turkce, or German googletranslation of my poem .. both are good for apprehension and contents .. but the Spanish version gets a slight disadvantage in interpretation .. lol :coffee:
ResponderEliminarmy poem is about sibling love: a brother and a sister, one of them married young and the other grown up to write like Sylvia Plath ........ lol poetry is unconfined if we can look into the nature of "love" in many forms and shapes, being an old expectant read if we can find there's still burning fire :)
ResponderEliminarGamin(e)Stripping off, and mouth brushing o’er our treasures,every gold’s shining, exposed, and much edible raw.With corn-tree fauns as friends, the twain had playedtirelessly at the fields. In high summer, there kepthundreds of children ready for their perfect games. In chemise and pants, two brackish bodies fell overtired, and tied together late. Down the cornfields,hide-a-gamin ’N’ seek-a-gamine, we had had realfund of funs to play among the elfin fauns.Vouchsafed we the Milky Way,often to train spot *~*~*~We had it out, but one superb eldorado to meeta SUPERMAN – surreal, airborne, top sport.Hoped one day she would marry him there,and I be him to succour. If a daydream creepingburst true, cheesed off no-one was to retell.We would turn and run, the hot parts full,like a marque or two. Childhood whiled awaygood, like mum’s served up hot cross buns…what not the weasel words telling of whatparagons now we become – whatnot, whatnot –one swain gets married young and her path,the other writes…like Sylvia Plath.*J. HUS
ResponderEliminar