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Better Kept Wrapped

Yes.
I am an Aquarian.
And not into heat that's humidified.
I am a 'let-the-snow-fall'...
Up Uranus, Winter loving air sign.

All that heat and people on the streets,
Clinging onto dripping sweat?
Naw...
That part of Summer,
I'd like to forget.

Melting snow reminds me of seeing...
Meat thawing
And some meat I've seen thawing in Summer...
Would be better kept wrapped.
And thrown back into the freezer.

Doing everyone a favor,
If not seen.
Unless it's at one of those midnight cookouts.
Under the Moonlight.
It seems only 'then' that the trimming of fat,
Is not so obviously needed.

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I am the one of those.....

I am one of those who likes to live,
to be a friend and to forgive.
I am one of those who hates a lie,
if it were for me a war I would deny.
I am one of those who likes to dream,
if to play games then in a family team.
I am one of those who likes to sing
and listen to the bells ring.
I am one of those who likes to laugh,
the time with my dear ones is not enough.
I am one of those who likes fairy tales
and I know that even a hero sometimes fails.
I am thankful to my God and ask our Lord
to prolong my days
so that to look for the new ways.
I am one of those who tries to find the door
leading to more happiness,
I always try to avoid loneliness.
I am one of those who likes to give,
I am one of those who likes to live.

Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)

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Yes! Thou Art Fair, Yet Be Not Moved

YES! thou art fair, yet be not moved
To scorn the declaration,
That sometimes I in thee have loved
My fancy's own creation.

Imagination needs must stir;
Dear Maid, this truth believe,
Minds that have nothing to confer
Find little to perceive.

Be pleased that nature made thee fit
To feed my heart's devotion,
By laws to which all Forms submit
In sky, air, earth, and ocean.

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Sister Songs-An Offering To Two Sisters - Part The First

The leaves dance, the leaves sing,
The leaves dance in the breath of the Spring.
I bid them dance,
I bid them sing,
For the limpid glance
Of my ladyling;
For the gift to the Spring of a dewier spring,
For God's good grace of this ladyling!
I know in the lane, by the hedgerow track,
The long, broad grasses underneath
Are warted with rain like a toad's knobbed back;
But here May weareth a rainless wreath.
In the new-sucked milk of the sun's bosom
Is dabbled the mouth of the daisy-blossom;
The smouldering rosebud chars through its sheath;
The lily stirs her snowy limbs,
Ere she swims
Naked up through her cloven green,
Like the wave-born Lady of Love Hellene;
And the scattered snowdrop exquisite
Twinkles and gleams,
As if the showers of the sunny beams
Were splashed from the earth in drops of light.
Everything
That is child of Spring
Casts its bud or blossoming
Upon the stream of my delight.

Their voices, that scents are, now let them upraise
To Sylvia, O Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways!
Their lovely mother them array,
And prank them out in holiday,
For syllabling to Sylvia;
And all the birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
To bear with me this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

2.

While thus I stood in mazes bound
Of vernal sorcery,
I heard a dainty dubious sound,
As of goodly melody;
Which first was faint as if in swound,
Then burst so suddenly
In warring concord all around,
That, whence this thing might be,
To see
The very marrow longed in me!
It seemed of air, it seemed of ground,
And never any witchery
Drawn from pipe, or reed, or string,
Made such dulcet ravishing.
'Twas like no earthly instrument,
Yet had something of them all
In its rise, and in its fall;
As if in one sweet consort there were blent
Those archetypes celestial
Which our endeavouring instruments recall.
So heavenly flutes made murmurous plain
To heavenly viols, that again
- Aching with music--wailed back pain;
Regals release their notes, which rise
Welling, like tears from heart to eyes;
And the harp thrills with thronging sighs.
Horns in mellow flattering
Parley with the cithern-string:-
Hark!--the floating, long-drawn note
Woos the throbbing cithern-string!

Their pretty, pretty prating those citherns sure upraise
For homage unto Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways:
Those flutes do flute their vowelled lay,
Their lovely languid language say,
For lisping to Sylvia;
Those viols' lissom bowings break the heart of May,
And harps harp their burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

3.

Now at that music and that mirth
Rose, as 'twere, veils from earth;
And I spied
How beside
Bud, bell, bloom, an elf
Stood, or was the flower itself
'Mid radiant air
All the fair
Frequence swayed in irised wavers.
Some against the gleaming rims
Their bosoms prest
Of the kingcups, to the brims
Filled with sun, and their white limbs
Bathed in those golden lavers;
Some on the brown, glowing breast
Of that Indian maid, the pansy,
(Through its tenuous veils confest
Of swathing light), in a quaint fancy
Tied her knot of yellow favours;
Others dared open draw
Snapdragon's dreadful jaw:
Some, just sprung from out the soil,
Sleeked and shook their rumpled fans
Dropt with sheen
Of moony green;
Others, not yet extricate,
On their hands leaned their weight,
And writhed them free with mickle toil,
Still folded in their veiny vans:
And all with an unsought accord
Sang together from the sward;
Whence had come, and from sprites
Yet unseen, those delights,
As of tempered musics blent,
Which had given me such content.
For haply our best instrument,
Pipe or cithern, stopped or strung,
Mimics but some spirit tongue.

Their amiable voices, I bid them upraise
To Sylvia, O Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways;
Their lovesome labours laid away,
To linger out this holiday
In syllabling to Sylvia;
While all the birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
To bear with me this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

4.

Next I saw, wonder-whist,
How from the atmosphere a mist,
So it seemed, slow uprist;
And, looking from those elfin swarms,
I was 'ware
How the air
Was all populous with forms
Of the Hours, floating down,
Like Nereids through a watery town.
Some, with languors of waved arms,
Fluctuous oared their flexile way;
Some were borne half resupine
On the aerial hyaline,
Their fluid limbs and rare array
Flickering on the wind, as quivers
Trailing weed in running rivers;
And others, in far prospect seen,
Newly loosed on this terrene,
Shot in piercing swiftness came,
With hair a-stream like pale and goblin flame.
As crystelline ice in water,
Lay in air each faint daughter;
Inseparate (or but separate dim)
Circumfused wind from wind-like vest,
Wind-like vest from wind-like limb.
But outward from each lucid breast,
When some passion left its haunt,
Radiate surge of colour came,
Diffusing blush-wise, palpitant,
Dying all the filmy frame.
With some sweet tenderness they would
Turn to an amber-clear and glossy gold;
Or a fine sorrow, lovely to behold,
Would sweep them as the sun and wind's joined flood
Sweeps a greening-sapphire sea;
Or they would glow enamouredly
Illustrious sanguine, like a grape of blood;
Or with mantling poetry
Curd to the tincture which the opal hath,
Like rainbows thawing in a moonbeam bath.
So paled they, flushed they, swam they, sang melodiously.

Their chanting, soon fading, let them, too, upraise
For homage unto Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways;
Weave with suave float their waved way,
And colours take of holiday,
For syllabling to Sylvia;
And all the birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
To bear with me this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

5.

Then, through those translucencies,
As grew my senses clearer clear,
Did I see, and did I hear,
How under an elm's canopy
Wheeled a flight of Dryades
Murmuring measured melody.
Gyre in gyre their treading was,
Wheeling with an adverse flight,
In twi-circle o'er the grass,
These to left, and those to right;
All the band
Linked by each other's hand;
Decked in raiment stained as
The blue-helmed aconite.
And they advance with flutter, with grace,
To the dance
Moving on with a dainty pace,
As blossoms mince it on river swells.
Over their heads their cymbals shine,
Round each ankle gleams a twine
Of twinkling bells -
Tune twirled golden from their cells.
Every step was a tinkling sound,
As they glanced in their dancing-ground,
Clouds in cluster with such a sailing
Float o'er the light of the wasting moon,
As the cloud of their gliding veiling
Swung in the sway of the dancing-tune.
There was the clash of their cymbals clanging,
Ringing of swinging bells clinging their feet;
And the clang on wing it seemed a-hanging,
Hovering round their dancing so fleet. -
I stirred, I rustled more than meet;
Whereat they broke to the left and right,
With eddying robes like aconite
Blue of helm;
And I beheld to the foot o' the elm.

They have not tripped those dances, betrayed to my gaze,
To glad the heart of Sylvia, beholding of their maze;
Through barky walls have slid away,
And tricked them in their holiday,
For other than for Sylvia;
While all the birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
And bear with me this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

6.

Where its umbrage was enrooted,
Sat white-suited,
Sat green-amiced, and bare-footed,
Spring amid her minstrelsy;
There she sat amid her ladies,
Where the shade is
Sheen as Enna mead ere Hades'
Gloom fell thwart Persephone.
Dewy buds were interstrown
Through her tresses hanging down,
And her feet
Were most sweet,
Tinged like sea-stars, rosied brown.
A throng of children like to flowers were sown
About the grass beside, or clomb her knee:
I looked who were that favoured company.
And one there stood
Against the beamy flood
Of sinking day, which, pouring its abundance,
Sublimed the illuminous and volute redundance
Of locks that, half dissolving, floated round her face;
As see I might
Far off a lily-cluster poised in sun
Dispread its gracile curls of light
I knew what chosen child was there in place!
I knew there might no brows be, save of one,
With such Hesperian fulgence compassed,
Which in her moving seemed to wheel about her head.

O Spring's little children, more loud your lauds upraise,
For this is even Sylvia, with her sweet, feat ways!
Your lovesome labours lay away,
And prank you out in holiday,
For syllabling to Sylvia;
And all you birds on branches, lave your mouths with May,
To bear with me this burthen
For singing to Sylvia!

7.

Spring, goddess, is it thou, desired long?
And art thou girded round with this young train? -
If ever I did do thee ease in song,
Now of thy grace let me one meed obtain,
And list thou to one plain.
Oh, keep still in thy train
After the years when others therefrom fade,
This tiny, well-beloved maid!
To whom the gate of my heart's fortalice,
With all which in it is,
And the shy self who doth therein immew him
'Gainst what loud leagurers battailously woo him,
I, bribed traitor to him,
Set open for one kiss.

Then suffer, Spring, thy children, that lauds they should upraise
To Sylvia, this Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways;
Their lovely labours lay away,
And trick them out in holiday,
For syllabling to Sylvia;
And that all birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
To bear with me this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

8.

A kiss? for a child's kiss?
Aye, goddess, even for this.
Once, bright Sylviola! in days not far,
Once--in that nightmare-time which still doth haunt
My dreams, a grim, unbidden visitant -
Forlorn, and faint, and stark,
I had endured through watches of the dark
The abashless inquisition of each star,
Yea, was the outcast mark
Of all those heavenly passers' scrutiny;
Stood bound and helplessly
For Time to shoot his barbed minutes at me;
Suffered the trampling hoof of every hour
In night's slow-wheeled car;
Until the tardy dawn dragged me at length
From under those dread wheels; and, bled of strength,
I waited the inevitable last.
Then there came past
A child; like thee, a spring-flower; but a flower
Fallen from the budded coronal of Spring,
And through the city-streets blown withering.
She passed,--O brave, sad, lovingest, tender thing! -
And of her own scant pittance did she give,
That I might eat and live:
Then fled, a swift and trackless fugitive.
Therefore I kissed in thee
The heart of Childhood, so divine for me;
And her, through what sore ways,
And what unchildish days,
Borne from me now, as then, a trackless fugitive.
Therefore I kissed in thee
Her, child! and innocency,
And spring, and all things that have gone from me,
And that shall never be;
All vanished hopes, and all most hopeless bliss,
Came with thee to my kiss.
And ah! so long myself had strayed afar
From child, and woman, and the boon earth's green,
And all wherewith life's face is fair beseen;
Journeying its journey bare
Five suns, except of the all-kissing sun
Unkissed of one;
Almost I had forgot
The healing harms,
And whitest witchery, a-lurk in that
Authentic cestus of two girdling arms:
And I remembered not
The subtle sanctities which dart
From childish lips' unvalued precious brush,
Nor how it makes the sudden lilies push
Between the loosening fibres of the heart.
Then, that thy little kiss
Should be to me all this,
Let workaday wisdom blink sage lids thereat;
Which towers a flight three hedgerows high, poor bat!
And straightway charts me out the empyreal air.
Its chart I wing not by, its canon of worth
Scorn not, nor reck though mine should breed it mirth:
And howso thou and I may be disjoint,
Yet still my falcon spirit makes her point
Over the covert where
Thou, sweetest quarry, hast put in from her!

(Soul, hush these sad numbers, too sad to upraise
In hymning bright Sylvia, unlearn'd in such ways!
Our mournful moods lay we away,
And prank our thoughts in holiday,
For syllabling to Sylvia;
When all the birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
To bear with us this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia!)

9.

Then thus Spring, bounteous lady, made reply:
O lover of me and all my progeny,
For grace to you
I take her ever to my retinue.
Over thy form, dear child, alas! my art
Cannot prevail; but mine immortalising
Touch I lay upon thy heart.
Thy soul's fair shape
In my unfading mantle's green I drape,
And thy white mind shall rest by my devising
A Gideon-fleece amid life's dusty drouth.
If Even burst yon globed yellow grape
(Which is the sun to mortals' sealed sight)
Against her stained mouth;
Or if white-handed light
Draw thee yet dripping from the quiet pools,
Still lucencies and cools,
Of sleep, which all night mirror constellate dreams;
Like to the sign which led the Israelite,
Thy soul, through day or dark,
A visible brightness on the chosen ark
Of thy sweet body and pure,
Shall it assure,
With auspice large and tutelary gleams,
Appointed solemn courts, and covenanted streams.'

Cease, Spring's little children, now cease your lauds to raise;
That dream is past, and Sylvia, with her sweet, feat ways.
Our loved labour, laid away,
Is smoothly ended; said our say,
Our syllable to Sylvia.
Make sweet, you birds on branches! make sweet your mouths with
May!
But borne is this burthen,
Sung unto Sylvia.

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Entrapped to Feed the Whims of Fat Cats

What difference does it make,
Who is selected to represent...
Fake entitlements.

If such distractions can be afforded,
To maintain and sustain them...
That is going to happen!

Those entrapped to feed the whims of fat cats,
Will continue.

You...
Not they,
Provide them entertainment.
That's all.

You may have done it.
However...
I am sure they have not,
Lowered their expectations.

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Quatrain #448 - Let the days that've gone by........

Let the days thatve gone by all serve as a reminder
to share what we have and to each other be kinder.
For the days yet to come are not all that certain
and the things we have now become a burden.

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Only Then

First of all,
I'm not trying to be lost up in your love.
I've come equipped with a flashlight,
If you noticed.
I've already been blinded by that kind of love before.
And I am not here to donate for charity purposes.
Or be driven crazed by good booty!

Those goo goo gah gah eye days are gone.
I may gah a little goo with you,
But I am strickly business...
When it comes to affairs of the heart.

You may be seeking a friend with fringe benefits.
Who knows?
But for me...
I want to see your medical history,
Attached with a footprint proving your birth!
Dated and when the event happened.
As well as some ancestral documentation.
Only then,
Can you have all the love from me you want!

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Let the Light Enter

"The dying words of Goethe."


"Light! more light! the shadows deepen,
And my life is ebbing low,
Throw the windows widely open:
Light! more light! before I go.

"Softly let the balmy sunshine
Play around my dying bed,
E'er the dimly lighted valley
I with lonely feet must tread.

"Light! more light! for Death is weaving
Shadows 'round my waning sight,
And I fain would gaze upon him
Through a stream of earthly light."

Not for greater gifts of genius;
Not for thoughts more grandly bright,
All the dying poet whispers
Is a prayer for light, more light.

Heeds he not the gathered laurels,
Fading slowly from his sight;
All the poet's aspirations
Centre in that prayer for light.

Gracious Saviour, when life's day-dreams
Melt and vanish from the sight,
May our dim and longing vision
Then be blessed with light, more light.

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Then And Only Then

We search for outside conclusions to questions we have inside
We search for logical solutions to problems we cannot hide
We hope and pray the curse of war will be undone
And that the world will be as one
But we can't change it on our own, it takes more
Chorus:
Then and only then can we live in perfect harmony
Only if and when we sacrifice our comfort for the least of these
Get together down on our knees and pray God give us peace
Then and only then
We need to stop looking on ourselves and look to the One who know all
He has the answers that can rebuild us, a foundation that will not fall
We hope and pray the curse of hate will be no more
But it may be different
At least we know what the power of prayer is for, let's unite
(chorus)
We know it's gonna take time to get it together, to follow it through
But if we try a little bit harder, just think what we could do
If we only knew
(chorus out

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You Have Let The Beauty Of The Day Go Over

You have let the beauty of the day go over,
You have let the glory of the noon go by.
Clouds from the West have gathered close and cover
All but a remnant now of our proud sky.

Dumbly the rain beats on our darkened faces.
Hushed are the woods. Alas, for us no bird
Shall sing to--day of pleasure in green places,
No touch shall thrill, no soul of leaves be stirred.

Why did we wait? What faith was ours in fortune?
What was our pride that fate should kneel to us?
Oh, we were fools. Love loves not to importune,
And he is silent here in this sad house.

Alas, dear love, the day for us is ended,
The pleasure of green fields, of streams, of skies.
One hour remains, one only of joy blended
With coming night. Ah, seize it ere it flies.

Draw fast the curtains. Close the door on sorrow.
Shut out the dusk. It only makes us grieve.
Here we may live a life,--and then, to--morrow,
If fate still wills it, we may take our leave.

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Only Then to Find Myself

When I made a decision
To use the name I was blessed with
Adding a second name that meant exactly
What my first name means in a different dialect...
Folks got upset.
Because I wanted to perfect my identity!
Lawrence S. I was going to be!
People could not pronounce 'Suhuba'.
Thinking it was something like scuba diving.
And when I told them the name was Yoruban.
From true Egyptian/Yoruba tradition...
You would have thought those of colonial understandings,
Had thought I lost my ancestral mind!
I've known who I've been all this time!
I am defined and proud,
To announce my heritage out loud.
Originality?
Being free of subservience,
I imagine that is what is seen in me.
I have an integrity with dignity.
And could care less who is lost in distress.
I was there...
Before I awakened,
To remove someone else's brand!
Only then to find myself...
Disrespected by my own kind,
Whose minds had been completely brainwashed!
And free to think of themselves as insignificant.

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Why do we Let the killing go on?

Why do we Let the killing go on?

I really don't understand all that you all know!
To be the sacrificial lamb of those rich who won't go.
The rich, who profit for the wars they create.
Just to make a profit, and perpetuate world hate.
To render up our young for a useless sacrifice.
To fatten the rich purses with the lose of their life's.
My soul is so damaged by all I have seen.
I wish I could have been more influential a being.
To stop all of the madness and the creation of wars.
That cost of so many promises, the lost futures and gore.
We need to acknowledge the sacrifices of those,
who have be deceived into dying and lying just so.
War should always be a thing of last resort before anyone goes.
Not a thing for the fat cats profiting behind the closed doors.
Selling weapons to nations who are already poor.
Just to fatten the pockets of the rich by killing so many.
I cry for all of those wounded and who have been killed.
To make the few rich cats get more notes of debt and feel well paid.
The illusion of wealth and all it represents.
Will be our epitaph and so sealed in cement!
Peace!

Talile Ali 11/29/12

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And let the oil flow cheaply!

Heads of state or government of 25 nations met in Belgrade, capital of Yugoslavia at the first Summit of Non-Aligned Nations on 1st September 1961. Sri Lanka was a founder of the Non-Aligned Movement which consisted mainly of developing countries that preferred to stay away from any power blocks. These nations were not aligned to any superpower – either USA (America) or USSR (Russia) .Sri Lanka’s newly elected Prime Minister, Sirimavo Bandaranaike attended the inaugural Summit, stepping on to the world stage as the world’s first woman Prime Minister. She attended the second Summit held in Cairo in 1964 and in 1976 hosted the fifth Summit in Colombo. Thereafter Sri Lanka occupied the chair for three years.The origin of the movement dates back to 1954, when the Prime Minister of India, Shri Jawaharlal Nehru had coined the term “non-alignment” during his speech at the Asian Prime Ministers Conference in Colombo. In this speech, Nehru described the five pillars to be used as a guide for Sino-Indian relations. Called ‘Panchaseela’ (five restraints) , these principles would later serve as the basis of the Non-Aligned Movement.The five principles were: Mutual respect for each other’s territorial integrity and sovereigntyMutual non-aggression
Mutual non-interference in domestic affairsEquality and mutual benefit
Peaceful co-existence

I hear a sad Bedouin song of an aging Dictator
Who sung with his deep voice for a long period!
Yes, let others to sing and get rid of the power.
Bring the lute and leave the wealth.
Like your younger days remember
You touched the Sri Lankan soil once
As Omar Mukthar the Hero!
At the 5th Non-Alignment Summit, Colombo, Sri Lanka in 1976.
We're old now and leave aside the burden
Watch how they sing with the different pitch?
Companion Camel too old now
And no more desert crossing
Stop at an Oasis!
Take the lute out and sing the oldest song;
'Where we've come from
And where do we go? '
And let the oil flow cheaply!

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Let The Slave

(incorporating the price of experience. text: william blake)
Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bnght air
Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years
Rose and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open;
And let his wife and children return from the oppressors scourge
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
Singing: the sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning
And the fair moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night
For empire is no more and now the lion and wolf shall cease
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lixes is holy
What is the price of experience? do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? no, it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
And in the witherd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain
It is an easy thing to triumph in the summers sun
And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry ravens cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filld with wine and with the marrow of lambs
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
To see a God on every wind and a blessing on every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies house;
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field
And the sickness that cuts off his children
While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door
And our children bring fruits and flowers
Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten
And the slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison
And the soldier in the field
When the shatterd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me

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The Old Bark Hut

Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And I've had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I'm forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.
Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
That's all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you don't be moighty sparing, you'll go with a hungry gut
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For that's one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.
The bucket you boil your beef in has to carry water, too,
And they'll say you're getting mighty flash if you should ask for two.
I've a billy, and a pint pot, and a broken-handled cup,
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
And they all adorn the table in the old bark hut.
Faith, the table is not made of wood, as many you have seen
For if I had one half so good, I'd think myself serene
'Tis only an old sheet of bark—God knows when it was cut
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
It was blown from off the rafters of the old bark hut.
And of furniture, there's no such thing, 'twas never in the place,
Except the stool I sit upon—and that's an old gin case.
It does us for a safe as well, but you must keep it shut,
Or the flies would make it canter round the old hark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Or the flies would make it canter round the old bark hut.
If you should leave it open, and the flies should find your meat,
They'll scarcely leave a single piece that's fit for man to eat.
But you mustn't curse, nor grumble—what won't fatten will fill up
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.


In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
For what's out of sight is out of mind in an old bark hut.
In the summer time, when the weather's warm, this hut is nice and cool,
And you'll find the gentle breezes blowing in through every hole.
You can leave the old door open, or you can leave it shut,
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
There's no fear of suffocation in the old bark hut.
In the winter time—preserve us allto live in there's a treat
Especially when it's raining hard, and blowing wind and sleet.
The rain comes down the chimney, and your meat is black with soot
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
That's a substitute for pepper in an old bark hut.
I've seen the rain come in this hut just like a perfect flood,
Especially through that great big hole where once the table stood.
There's not a blessed spot, me boys, where you could lay your nut,
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
But the rain is sure to find you in the old bark hut.
So beside the fire I make me bed, and there I lay me down,
And think myself as happy as the king that wears a crown.
But as you'd be dozing off to sleep a flea will wake you up,
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hu
Which makes you curse the vermin in the old bark hut.
Faith, such flocks of fleas you never saw, they are so plump and fat,
And if you make a grab at one, he'll spit just like a cat.
Last night they got my pack of cards, and were fighting for the cut
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
I thought the devil had me in the old bark hut.
So now, my friends, I've sung my song, and that as well as I could,
And I hope the ladies present won't think my language rude,
And all ye younger people, in the days when you grow up,
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.

In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
Remember Bob the Swagman, and the old bark hut.

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Let The Women Decide About Abortion Men And Mind Your Own Business

Let the women decide about abortion men
And mind your own business
Because it is the women that gives birth to babies
And not the men

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Yes, Let The Sleeping Dogs Just Lie Peacefully On The Beach

yes, mr. clark,
let the sleeping dogs just
lie peacefully on the
white sands of the beach
let them sleep well
to the songs of the
sea breeze

let the waves be
gentle and
let the one who
thinks so well
have that clear and calm
eye

let him pass
his way and let his footsteps
every footstep
be erased by the winds
by the waves of the
gentlest sea

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Let The Curtains Fall

when she did not call me by
my personal name anymore,
i fully understand what she meant
she cuts off
the cord of friendship
gives the final signal
that she does not want to hear
anything from me
anymore

i thanked her for the early
knowing,
i know also how to do the same
cutting off and
moving on....


this world gives you
so many options
so many people and so many new friends
to take in

so? let the curtains fall
let us begin the next scene the next act.

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The air was full of fire and sand

The night that I wished to be home
as the path we were on
lead to death
and not like the axiom to Rome

behind enemy lines
we called in the vultures of death
and the chill froze my breath
in clouds in the bright moonlight,

followed the mist from the river
penetrating ever deeper
into the enemy positions
we hid almost in their midst

and with the rising sun
eerie birds came screeching down
with flaming afterburners
dropping rockets and bombs
on enemy tanks,
shelling armoured cars
with raging canon
and the air was full
of fire and sand.

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Let The Love Remain

There you are and here I am
Whispering words of love
Feelings just as new as a breaking dawn
Brings joy, a song to my soul
Oh how I love the way you braided our dreams
It's like a rainbow emerged behind the hills
Every word you say when I'm out of peace
Soothes me well down to my finger tips
So come near, I want you to hear
That everything becomes fine when you're here
Please stay warm, keep close
And let the current flows
Keep the light of passion shine over me
I want to stay this way forever
So promise me without asking why
Do not leave and say goodbye

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXIV: Let the World's Sharpness

Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life -
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;
Growing straight, out of man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

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