The world is not made of molecules, the world is made of stories.
quote by Muriel Rukeyser
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Stars Birth Labours Into New Light Organic Life
space dark velvet beauty star light sparkling
stars birth labours into new light organic life
primordial soup complex organic chemicals
precursors life birth born in each all new stars
infrared space observatories wonder observe
large organic molecules evolve from chemicals
in cloud-like envelope surrounding some stars
within a mere few thousand years of new birth
watch infrared spectra readings of short-lived
carbon-rich stars engulfed in clouds of gas dust
clouds seeded rich advanced organic molecules
repeatedly detected in outer space young stars
sing times of merriment paradise periods as new
life prospers proliferates complex molecules exist
stars creating new life in conception birth labours
stars birth life easily without difficulty chemicals
eventually ejected into interstellar space journey
out toward cry life planets earth life possibilities
in right conditions will life evolve chemical soups
acetylene building block for benzene other aromatic
molecules can turn can form complex hydrocarbons
chemical play doe our childhood model stuff of life
possibilities amino acids are source manufactured
around stars a life essential molecule earth science
cannot detect in current generation space telescopes
stars are born first life begins as organic molecules
in space found journey out towards any path planets
crossing habitat opportunities will microbes survive
do the math calculate earth sun pressure temperature
acceleration radiation a microbe would must endure
to survive such a journey from Mars to Earth bingo
two well-known microbes Deinococcus radiodorans
and Bacillus subtilis are capable of surviving the trip
microbes have been tested in laboratories are found
highly resistant to heat radiation acceleration forces
microbes near core of a Mars rock womb protected
survive journey through the vacuum of space endure
searing fall to Earth in rocks the size of a football in
rocks just bigger heat does not have time to get inside
life once existed inside a Martian asteroid scientists at
the Johnson Space Center in Houston found evidence
space life known in the sixties NASA will not tell public
conclusions are controversial to flat earth society folk
in early solar system history a trillion Earth rocks were
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Stories We Could Tell
By: john b. sebastian
1974
Talkin to myself again
Wonderin if this travellin is good
Is there somethin else a doin
Wed be doin if we could
Chorus:
But ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories we could tell
Stared at that guitar in that museum in tennessee
Nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
Scars upon the face told of all the times he fell
Singin all the stories he could tell
Chorus:
Ah, the stories he could tell
And Ill bet you it still rings like a bell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
And listen to the stories it could tell
So if youre on the road trackin down your every night
Playin for a livin beneath brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride the carousel
You do it for the stories you can tell
Ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Just listen to the stories we could tell
Coda:
Yes, I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories it could tell
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stories
Every year has its own stories in this life,
Every month has its own stories in this life,
Every week has its own stories in this life,
Every day has its own stories in this life,
Every hour has its own stories in this life,
Every minute has its own stories in this life,
And like the muse of the mind as we grow up;
So, we are all with stories to tell in this world.
As white as snow,
As red as blood,
As balck as charcoal,
As green as the grass,
As blue as the sky;
But everybody has stories to tell in this world!
And like the muse o love in the land of beauty,
For each year has its own story.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Stories About Home
I lived once in the North
And for a while, way in the South
I have some stories... that'll
Tear a man's heart out
These are the one's
I numbered ten... eleven...and twelve...
They moved so fast...
I ended living... in living Hell
But those that I numbered one thru nine...
They let the world see...why... my eyes..
My heart...
Will never again shine
I know It's hard sometimes to live
Where you can't see the sun...
Because of all that... endless rain...
I look to see.. how too... help others
Because I have lived...every kind of pain
So I write the stories...
Some are good
But often... some are very bad
They often leave hearts torn....
Spilling eyes... so sad...
And sometimes... I'll talk about the incredibly bad
But can you see the purpose...of writing
These stories... these poems...
Through the tears.... the weeping... and crying...
It's just my heart....
Trying to find a way...to move back home...
So to anyone whom read these stories. They're what I write.
They're the words of what I feel. They're the stories about wounds,
about that life, my family, about souls that never seem to heal.
They're the words of truth, they help with what I feel. For these stories
are the cause of tears...that just wont end...they're the stories that are
impossibe to bear.
They are the stoires of my family, abuse, of damage
and how love was not spared....
So many stories that'll never disappear
A soul covered with scars
Of sadness that fills a heart
That burns each time those hate words...
And abuse that breaks it apart
Clyde Grant Bryson
poem by Clyde Bryson
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I am a collection of water, calcium and organic molecules called Carl Sagan. You are a collection of almost identical molecules with a different collective label. But is that all? Is there nothing in here but molecules? Some people find this idea somehow demeaning to human dignity. For myself, I find it elevating that our universe permits the evolution of molecular machines as intricate and subtle as we.
quote by Carl Sagan
Added by Catalin Popescu
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Stories
Through every window, we look out
what we see on the other side
holds many stories waiting to unfold.
Stories of great achievements
within someone’s life.
Stories of gathering love
found with in open arms.
Stories of perusing heartaches
where someone has gone away.
Stories a million fold
that surround every living thing.
Stories we are not aware of,
but happen before our eyes.
Stories to share with all
from those who can see them unfold.
The next time you look out a window
try and see what is really there,
the stories that are everywhere.
26 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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Stories We Could Tell
Talkin to myself again
Wondering if this travelin is good
Is there something better wed be doing if we could
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
Remember that guitar in a museum in tennessee
And the nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
And the scratches on the face
Told of all the times he fell
Singin every story he could tell
And oh the stories it could tell
And I bet you it still rings like a bell
And I wish we could sit back on the bed in some motel
And listen to the stories we could tell
So if youre on the road tracking down here every night
And youre singin for a livin neath the brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride this carousel
You did it for the stories you could tell
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
song performed by Tom Petty
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wonderous Stories
(anderson)
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wondrous Stories
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wonderous Stories
(anderson)
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wondrous Stories
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by Yes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Girls
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young --
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
x2
{girls speaking}
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
x2
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young --
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money.
girls
Travel fast Have a blast
Travel fast Make it last
Have a blast
Travel fast Make it last
Have a blast
Girls Girls Around the world
Around the world
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
x3
girls (until end)
song performed by Prodigy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stories
when we were young stories were told
That I'd kiss you sweet like
People said there was a connection between us
Now that we're old stories are told
Of how I hold you tight
Whenever I see those people I tell them they were right
Stories will be told
From when our children are young
until they're old
About our endless love
We must have had a blessing from above
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Until the sun won't rise
Oh
song performed by Hanson
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Legend of Legends written by Cornelia Păun Heinzel
The Legend of Legends written by Cornelia Păun Heinzel
One day, God called St. Peter to him and said :
– St. Peter, I want you to go around the world to see how the people are doing. I gave them the Bible full of lectures to be a teacher and a model in their lives. I gave them great writers to create stories for kids, religious stories or even about history inspired by the history of their beloved nation. I gave them poets to delight them with the magic of their lyrics. I gave them musicians to bless them with their music. I gave them bards and singers to sing and imitate their lovely creations. I gave them actors to perform with talent the beautiful creations of the play writers. I want to know if they’re enjoying my gifts and if these gifts straight from my pure heart have really changed the way they live in a good way and my work wasn’t for nothing.
St. Peter quickly embarked on a long journey. He climbed some of the tallest mountains, he went down to the beaches filled with golden sand, he listened to the music of the fishermen. He went through cities and villages, heard the wisdom of proverbs and popular sayings and looked at various occasions, being charmed by the spiritual wealth of the ceremonies. He went with people to church to religious services. He participated with them in prayers, and St. Peter’s journey was over.
He went straight back to heaven with much to say about what he has seen. He presented before the Holy God:
– Holy God, he said, I have searched the whole world. I have listened to the beautiful lyrics of people and their great songs. I went and prayed with them at the church. I participated in their charming celebrations. I saw great theater plays. I heard stories that made my ears rejoice. I read with pleasure books for kids that were magical, fantastic, historical, philosophical, religious, romantic, and satirical. But, I still have a problem. I don’t know what sort are those stories that contain fantastic or unthinkable, embroidered on the background of a historical reason, or something totally different never heard of before that describes something or even a creature. The different character, someone historical, or a hero that has been proven to be a myth or even a phenomenon, those stories are different from the truth and they should have a different name.
– You spoke the truth, St. Peter. I thought long ago of something like this. I meditated long enough and I want from now, these different stories to be named legends, God said.
– God, then this must be the legend of legends because it narrates how legends are created, said St. Peter.
poem by Cornelia Păun Heinzel from The Alternative Canada (2017), translated by Filip Enache
Added by anonym
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The Legend of Legends
The Legend of Legends written by Cornelia Păun Heinzel
One day, God called St. Peter to him and said :
– St. Peter, I want you to go around the world to see how the people are doing. I gave them the Bible full of lectures to be a teacher and a model in their lives. I gave them great writers to create stories for kids, religious stories or even about history inspired by the history of their beloved nation. I gave them poets to delight them with the magic of their lyrics. I gave them musicians to bless them with their music. I gave them bards and singers to sing and imitate their lovely creations. I gave them actors to perform with talent the beautiful creations of the play writers. I want to know if they’re enjoying my gifts and if these gifts straight from my pure heart have really changed the way they live in a good way and my work wasn’t for nothing.
St. Peter quickly embarked on a long journey. He climbed some of the tallest mountains, he went down to the beaches filled with golden sand, he listened to the music of the fishermen. He went through cities and villages, heard the wisdom of proverbs and popular sayings and looked at various occasions, being charmed by the spiritual wealth of the ceremonies. He went with people to church to religious services. He participated with them in prayers, and St. Peter’s journey was over.
He went straight back to heaven with much to say about what he has seen. He presented before the Holy God:
– Holy God, he said, I have searched the whole world. I have listened to the beautiful lyrics of people and their great songs. I went and prayed with them at the church. I participated in their charming celebrations. I saw great theater plays. I heard stories that made my ears rejoice. I read with pleasure books for kids that were magical, fantastic, historical, philosophical, religious, romantic, and satirical. But, I still have a problem. I don’t know what sort are those stories that contain fantastic or unthinkable, embroidered on the background of a historical reason, or something totally different never heard of before that describes something or even a creature. The different character, someone historical, or a hero that has been proven to be a myth or even a phenomenon, those stories are different from the truth and they should have a different name.
– You spoke the truth, St. Peter. I thought long ago of something like this. I meditated long enough and I want from now, these different stories to be named legends, God said.
– God, then this must be the legend of legends because it narrates how legends are created, said St. Peter.
poem by Cornelia Păun Heinzel from The Alternative Canada (2017), translated by Filip Enache
Added by anonym
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Hard Luck Stories
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine.
Every time youre feelin fine
Got another good one on the line
It slips away,
You feel it slip away, slip away.
I dont want no more from you
Wont do what you want me to
Turn me loose
Come on turn me loose, turn me loose.
Every time Im feelin good
The phone rings and I knock on wood
Hoping that it wont be you
Calling like you always do.
All you ever seem to say is
How much bad luck came your way
You wont try to start again
You just count on your old friends.
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine.
Now you call up every day
Got no money no place to stay
That girl made a mess of you
You got what was comin too.
Build her up and let her down
Tastin everythin in town
Treat her right, you never
Treat her right, treat her right.
Now shes gone and youre alone
Bite your fingers to the bone
Slip away,
You feel it slip away, slip away.
You dont know whats goin on
How you lost it, what went wrong
What ever happened to
The love that you once knew.
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine.
song performed by Neil Young
Added by Lucian Velea
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Zig Zag Stories
I had a zig zag story just the other day
I rolled a fat blunt and yo, it ripped this way
I took a puff (uh-huh) and what did i see?
Those motherf__kers still wanna i-c-e
To blaze up a sac of that green bombay
And when i reach my peak, i explode like dante
Tha ganjay has got my mind wide open, i'm soakin'
In the music, i use it, and don't abuse it
And true, it gets me high like the sky
I will buy 'till the day that i die
You ain't gotta ask me why
I take tokes from the smoke, i can't deny
Got a lifetime supply
And i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
'cause i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
And i wanna get you high
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
This is a zig zag story that i had last night
A six-pack, a joint, and i was feeling all right
Lit up tha chronic, and what did i see?
This bad-a__ bit_h creeping up on me
She had the look that could get the ice cooked up in a second
I pictured her undressing and gettin' butt-naked
She walked up to me and said her name was mary jane
Ain't no shame in my game, down to do anything
Took me by the hand, ask me if i'd like to fly
You know i like to fly
'cause i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
'cause i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
And i wanna get you high
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
(right here, you know we're gettin' 'em high right now)
Now here's a zig zag story that i'm havin' right now
Gotta get myself together 'cause some sh_t is goin' down
Hit you people off with my new cd
Hard to swallow, like saying "f__k the industry!"
I'm stompin' through the bayou with my black boots laced
And takin' out you motherf__kers acting two-faced
For the people out there gonna blaze 'till i die
Blaze up the thai
[...] Read more
song performed by Vanilla Ice
Added by Lucian Velea
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Narratives
Narratives we tell to show
who we believe we are deceive
the listeners who are forced to go
with that one version they receive,
because we’ve may others we
can tell to different people to
impress them with our pedigree
and perspicacious points of view.
Do we from truth take long excursions
by changing tales about ourselves,
to find as many different versions
as books in volumes on our shelves?
No, there’s some truth in each refrain,
for every life is like a ballad
with different verses that explain
its variations, each as valid
as the next one, contradictions
all harmonized with disappearance
of prejudice about the fictions
that help to give the facts coherence.
Inspired by Benedict Carey, who writes about narratives we tell of our lives (“This Is Your Life (and How You Tell It, ” NYT, May 22,2007) :
For more than a century, researchers have been trying to work out the raw ingredients that account for personality, the sweetness and neuroses that make Anna Anna, the sluggishness and sensitivity that make Andrew Andrew. They have largely ignored the first-person explanation — the life story that people themselves tell about who they are, and why. Stories are stories, after all. The attractive stranger at the airport bar hears one version, the parole officer another, and the P.T.A. board gets something entirely different. Moreover, the tone, the lessons, even the facts in a life story can all shift in the changing light of a person’s mood, its major notes turning minor, its depths appearing shallow. Yet in the past decade or so a handful of psychologists have argued that the quicksilver elements of personal narrative belong in any three-dimensional picture of personality. And a burst of new findings are now helping them make the case. Generous, civic-minded adults from diverse backgrounds tell life stories with very similar and telling features, studies find; so likewise do people who have overcome mental distress through psychotherapy. Every American may be working on a screenplay, but we are also continually updating a treatment of our own life — and the way in which we visualize each scene not only shapes how we think about ourselves, but how we behave, new studies find. By better understanding how life stories are built, this work suggests, people may be able to alter their own narrative, in small ways and perhaps large ones. “When we first started studying life stories, people thought it was just idle curiosity — stories, isn’t that cool? ” said Dan P. McAdams, a professor of psychology at Northwestern and author of the 2006 book, “The Redemptive Self.” “Well, we find that these narratives guide behavior in every moment, and frame not only how we see the past but how we see ourselves in the future.” Researchers have found that the human brain has a natural affinity for narrative construction. People tend to remember facts more accurately if they encounter them in a story rather than in a list, studies find; and they rate legal arguments as more convincing when built into narrative tales rather than on legal precedent.
5/22/07
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Confessio Amantis. Prologus
Torpor, ebes sensus, scola parua labor minimusque
Causant quo minimus ipse minora canam:
Qua tamen Engisti lingua canit Insula Bruti
Anglica Carmente metra iuuante loquar.
Ossibus ergo carens que conterit ossa loquelis
Absit, et interpres stet procul oro malus.
Of hem that writen ous tofore
The bokes duelle, and we therfore
Ben tawht of that was write tho:
Forthi good is that we also
In oure tyme among ous hiere
Do wryte of newe som matiere,
Essampled of these olde wyse
So that it myhte in such a wyse,
Whan we ben dede and elleswhere,
Beleve to the worldes eere
In tyme comende after this.
Bot for men sein, and soth it is,
That who that al of wisdom writ
It dulleth ofte a mannes wit
To him that schal it aldai rede,
For thilke cause, if that ye rede,
I wolde go the middel weie
And wryte a bok betwen the tweie,
Somwhat of lust, somewhat of lore,
That of the lasse or of the more
Som man mai lyke of that I wryte:
And for that fewe men endite
In oure englissh, I thenke make
A bok for Engelondes sake,
The yer sextenthe of kyng Richard.
What schal befalle hierafterward
God wot, for now upon this tyde
Men se the world on every syde
In sondry wyse so diversed,
That it welnyh stant al reversed,
As forto speke of tyme ago.
The cause whi it changeth so
It needeth nought to specifie,
The thing so open is at ije
That every man it mai beholde:
And natheles be daies olde,
Whan that the bokes weren levere,
Wrytinge was beloved evere
Of hem that weren vertuous;
For hier in erthe amonges ous,
If noman write hou that it stode,
The pris of hem that weren goode
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poem by John Gower
Added by Poetry Lover
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