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Overlooking Life

When I die I will miss the beach
The cool sensation of the salty breeze against your face,
Walking along the shore trying to find that perfect sea shell,
Building sandcastles even if you are a little too old!
Laying on the hot sand soaking up the sun,
The feel of wet sand squishing between your toes,
Diving in to the bubbly water,
I hope there is a beach in heaven.

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You Are My Little Flower

you are my little flower
still growing
in my garden

blooming for me
for eternity

and it does not
really matter

if i die
not just once but a hundred times

if i live only once
to have a glance

to your
shy petals

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Ciphers Of Love Unrequited Because I Am Taken And You Are Already Taken Too

it is too unfair for me to hate you i admit this
you do not really know even if you are beside me thinking that there is nothing happening that there is nothing wrong that there is nothing between us that i have not rooted my hands to your soft hair

i choose to live wisely and i must invent hate to you i must grow the seeds of indifference for by then i too do not even know if slowly i am choking myself with this love that i have not offered with this 'thing' that you must not know for by then i shall be demeaning myself and all the meanings that i have worked for shall all be thrown in the river of trash and so when you meet me i am as solid and as high as a pillar and you are my butterfly that hovers around me and i do not say anything.....

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You are the gold!

You are the gold yet to be polished,
Unearthed from the mine's womb,
You have to glitter to show your luster,
You are undergone the heat meditation,
In the hot furnace to melt and strip,
All the impurities and weakness of you,
Strengthened with amalgamation,
In which you are combined with experience,
To be strong to take all the beats,
To be malleable and ductile,
Sometimes you are simply poured in the mold,
Sometimes you are heavily electrolyzed,
In the acidic medium, where you can coat,
Anything that has to hide its flaws,
Even if you are thrown into the ditch,
Someone will pick up and keep you in their heart,
You are the gold, undergoing lots of pressure,
To make you as the ornaments,
For the lovely diamond to rest,
You are the gold, shines as the Sun,
Or yet to shine at least as the moon,
Still you are very precious,
For those who knows your value.

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Even if you are

What even if you are so optimistic
As life will never remain static
It may have all ups and down
Person himself has to own or disown

It may make you all the time happy
You too will always be willing and ready
Time is tide will not wait if you are lazy
It may keep you all the time on toe and very busy

Even with your pessimism the reality will not alter
It is like doing nothing but expect to settle the matter
It will bring only disappointment and despair
The damage will done beyond repair

You should feel only about real outcome
Success or failure must always be welcome
It is useless to ponder over foreign land
And feel bad about something that is not in your hand

Aimless wondering is not at all appreciated concept
Person ahs to be cleaver and very much prompt
No one can claim immunity or pretend to be exempt
As it will be solely his responsibility for the act

Don’t interpret life as pure gamble
No one present it as simple sample
It is great work and sense of dedication
Outcome of it may just be an indication

We speak like philosopher after setbacks
Try to assume innocence and sidetrack
The real issues and causes for dismal show
It will useful only when you swim with river flow

Life is life and can be termed as very live
We got to spend rest span and believe
Who else will enjoy its fruit or kicks?
So sweet in nature but with heavy blow of bricks

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Where Will I Go When I Die?

WHERE WILL I GO WHEN I DIE?

Where will I go when I die?
To the sky?
To the ground only?
To nothingness forever and eternal not being?
To God?
To where those I knew and loved in the world are?
To a new life?
To the old life continued by other means?
To a mystery? To a surprise?
To something far better than I could ever have imagined?

Where will I go when I die?
Will I go anywhere?
What will G-d make of me
When I die?

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Never Too Old

You’re never too old to pop plastic bubbles
Never too old to have a twinkle in your eye
Never too old to stir up some trouble
Never too old til the day that you die

You’re never to old to sneak a few cookies
Never too old to give someone the ‘eye’
Never too old to like ‘Star Wars and Wookies’
Never too old til the day that you die

You’re never too old to enjoy a good dirty joke
Never too old to still wish you could fly
Never too old to think you could croak
Never too old til the day that you die

You’re never too old to splash thru a puddle
Never too old to watch a fire truck scream by
Never to old for tag football and to huddle
Never too old til the day that you die

You’re never too old to get a bean stuck in your nose
Never too old to like a big slice of pizza pie
Never too old to toss away your support hose
Never too old til the day that you die

You’re never to old to be young at heart
And if you ever let that thought enter your head
if you ever start thinking that way you ol’ f*#t
You’re not young at heart…you’re just dead

In another poem I said “sing a little song,
And “Do a little dance, ” was another part.
To “Spritch a little seltzer down your pants” is never wrong
You’re never too old to be young at heart

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You Are The One I Been Looking For

Out of every guy is you
You answered all my questions that I couldn't do myself
You are angel come to save me from this broken road and
Lead me into right direction
You are the one I been looking for
You make me understand life
I feel so alive and free
I couldn't feel like this if it wasn't for you
I'm changing all the time because of you
I care about your opinion and what you think about me
You know I like you
I shouldn't have write on there
If I'm not going do anything about it
I never meant to hurt, make you jealous, and I was never mad at you
I was dumb for what I done to you and make you think different of me
You are different out of every guy in good way
I enjoy your laugh, jokes, smile, and goofy sides of you and who you are
You are the most wonderful person I ever meet
On negative side if worst that I have to deal with your friends think they know who I am
You want to found out about me and what your friends think about me
You want to test me, practice me in certain areas, and subjects
I get why, but I didn't realized at time
This was way different than I expect out of you
I am blushing and smiling around you
It's been long time
Everything is because of you
I can enjoy life, see how much I miss out, and have fun again for first time
I want to take risks, do things I never do before
No more sad songs or past
It's you I see now
You are the one I been looking for
I feel so bless to found you
Thank you for everything
You are always one person there to make me feel better when I'm in bad mood and
I start laughing and smile all because of you
When we smile at each other
I get all this sparks back and is was good moment
I just no way to approach you and this time is different
You have a face of famous person even if you are not one
I will not cry anymore if this doesn't work out
I know to let it go and learn from this
This is life and life is not fair
I get it and know better
I should realized what did I got myself in first place
If like this with you, how you feel about this situation, and
I put myself though something that end like this
There is nothing left to say
You are the one I been looking for

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Golden Legend: IV. The Road To Hirschau

PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on
horseback._

_Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs
to the distant city, impatiently bearing
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of
hate, of doing and daring!

_Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian
harp of many a joyous strain,
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail,
as of souls in pain.

_Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart
that aches and bleeds with the stigma
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can
comprehend its dark enigma.

_Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure
with little care of what may betide;
Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon
that rides by an angel's side?

_Elsie._ All the hedges are white with dust, and
the great dog under the creaking wain
Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the
horses toil and strain

_Prince Henry._ Now they stop at the wayside inn,
and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter,
While out of the dripping trough the horses distend
their leathern sides with water.

_Elsie._ All through life there are wayside inns,
where man may refresh his soul with love;
Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed
by springs from above.

_Prince Henry._ Yonder, where rises the cross of
stone, our journey along the highway ends,
And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the
broad green valley descends.

_Elsie._ I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten
road with its dust and heat;
The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer
under our horses' feet.

(_They turn down a green lane._)

_Elsie._ Sweet is the air with the budding haws,
and the valley stretching for miles below
Is white with blossoming cheery trees, as if just covered
with lightest snow.

_Prince Henry._ Over our heads a white cascade is
gleaming against the distant hill;
We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like
a banner when winds are still.

_Elsie._ Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and
cool the sound of the brook by our side!
What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it
over a land so wide?

_Prince Henry._ It is the home of the Counts of
Calva; well have I known these scenes of old,
Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the
brooklet, the wood, and the wold.

_Elsie._ Hark! from the little village below us the
bells of the church are ringing for rain!
Priests and peasants in long procession come forth
and kneel on the arid plain.

_Prince Henry._ They have not long to wait, for I
see in the south uprising a little cloud,
That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky
above us as with a shroud.

(_They pass on._)

* * * * *

THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE BLACK FOREST.

* * * * *

_The Convent cellar._ FRIAR CLAUS _comes in with a
light and a basket of empty flagons._

_Friar Claus._ I always enter this sacred place
With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace,
Pausing long enough on each stair
To breathe an ejaculatory prayer,
And a benediction on the vines
That produce these various sorts of wines!

For my part, I am well content
That we have got through with the tedious Lent!
Fasting is all very well for those
Who have to contend with invisible foes;
But I am quite sure it does not agree
With a quiet, peaceable man like me,
Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind
That are always distressed in body and mind!
And at times it really does me good
To come down among this brotherhood,
Dwelling forever under ground,
Silent, contemplative, round and sound;
Each one old, and brown with mould,
But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth,
With the latent power and love of truth,
And with virtues fervent and manifold.

I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide,
When buds are swelling on every side,
And the sap begins to move in the vine.
Then in all the cellars, far and wide,
The oldest, as well as the newest, wine
Begins to stir itself, and ferment,
With a kind of revolt and discontent
At being so long in darkness pent,
And fain would burst from its sombre tun
To bask on the hillside in the sun;
As in the bosom of us poor friars,
The tumult of half-subdued desires
For the world that we have left behind
Disturbs at times all peace of mind!
And now that we have lived through Lent,
My duty it is, as often before,
To open awhile the prison-door,
And give these restless spirits vent.

Now here is a cask that stands alone,
And has stood a hundred years or more,
Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar,
Trailing and sweeping along the floor,
Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave,
Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave,
Till his beard has grown through the table of stone!
It is of the quick and not of the dead!
In its veins the blood is hot and red,
And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak
That time may have tamed, but has not broke;
It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine,
Is one of the three best kinds of wine,
And costs some hundred florins the ohm;
But that I do not consider dear,
When I remember that every year
Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome.
And whenever a goblet thereof I drain,
The old rhyme keeps running in my brain:

At Bacharach on the Rhine,
At Hochheim on the Main,
And at Wuerzburg on the Stein,
Grow the three best kinds of wine!

They are all good wines, and better far
Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr
In particular, Wuerzburg well may boast
Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost,
Which of all wines I like the most.
This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking,
Who seems to be much of my way of thinking.

(_Fills a flagon._)

Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings!
What a delicious fragrance springs
From the deep flagon, while it fills,
As of hyacinths and daffodils!
Between this cask and the Abbot's lips
Many have been the sips and slips;
Many have been the draughts of wine,
On their way to his, that have stopped at mine;
And many a time my soul has hankered
For a deep draught out of his silver tankard,
When it should have been busy with other affairs,
Less with its longings and more with its prayers.
But now there is no such awkward condition,
No danger of death and eternal perdition;
So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all,
Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul!

(_He drinks._)

O cordial delicious! O soother of pain!
It flashes like sunshine into my brain!
A benison rest on the Bishop who sends
Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends!

And now a flagon for such as may ask
A draught from the noble Bacharach cask,
And I will be gone, though I know full well
The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell.
Behold where he stands, all sound and good,
Brown and old in his oaken hood;
Silent he seems externally
As any Carthusian monk may be;
But within, what a spirit of deep unrest!
What a seething and simmering in his breast!
As if the heaving of his great heart
Would burst his belt of oak apart!
Let me unloose this button of wood,
And quiet a little his turbulent mood.

(_Sets it running._)

See! how its currents gleam and shine,
As if they had caught the purple hues
Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine,
Descending and mingling with the dews;
Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood
Of the innocent boy, who, some years back,
Was taken and crucified by the Jews,
In that ancient town of Bacharach;
Perdition upon those infidel Jews,
In that ancient town of Bacharach!
The beautiful town, that gives us wine
With the fragrant odor of Muscadine!
I should deem it wrong to let this pass
Without first touching my lips to the glass,
For here in the midst of the current I stand,
Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river
Taking toll upon either hand,
And much more grateful to the giver.

(_He drinks._)

Here, now, is a very inferior kind,
Such as in any town you may find,
Such as one might imagine would suit
The rascal who drank wine out of a boot,
And, after all, it was not a crime,
For he won thereby Dorf Hueffelsheim.
A jolly old toper! who at a pull
Could drink a postilion's jack boot full,
And ask with a laugh, when that was done,
If the fellow had left the other one!
This wine is as good as we can afford
To the friars, who sit at the lower board,
And cannot distinguish bad from good,
And are far better off than if they could,
Being rather the rude disciples of beer
Than of anything more refined and dear!

(_Fills the other flagon and departs._)

* * * * *

THE SCRIPTORIUM.

FRIAR PACIFICUS _transcribing and illuminating._

_Friar Pacificus_ It is growing dark! Yet one line more,
And then my work for today is o'er.
I come again to the name of the Lord!
Ere I that awful name record,
That is spoken so lightly among men,
Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen;
Pure from blemish and blot must it be
When it writes that word of mystery!

Thus have I labored on and on,
Nearly through the Gospel of John.
Can it be that from the lips
Of this same gentle Evangelist,
That Christ himself perhaps has kissed,
Came the dread Apocalypse!
It has a very awful look,
As it stands there at the end of the book,
Like the sun in an eclipse.
Ah me! when I think of that vision divine,
Think of writing it, line by line,
I stand in awe of the terrible curse,
Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse!
God forgive me! if ever I
Take aught from the book of that Prophecy,
Lest my part too should be taken away
From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day.

This is well written, though I say it!
I should not be afraid to display it,
In open day, on the selfsame shelf
With the writings of St Thecla herself,
Or of Theodosius, who of old
Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold!
That goodly folio standing yonder,
Without a single blot or blunder,
Would not bear away the palm from mine,
If we should compare them line for line.

There, now, is an initial letter!
King Rene himself never made a better!
Finished down to the leaf and the snail,
Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail!
And now, as I turn the volume over,
And see what lies between cover and cover,
What treasures of art these pages hold,
All ablaze with crimson and gold,
God forgive me! I seem to feel
A certain satisfaction steal
Into my heart, and into my brain,
As if my talent had not lain
Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain.
Yes, I might almost say to the Lord,
Here is a copy of thy Word,
Written out with much toil and pain;
Take it, O Lord, and let it be
As something I have done for thee!

(_He looks from the window._)

How sweet the air is! How fair the scene!
I wish I had as lovely a green
To paint my landscapes and my leaves!
How the swallows twitter under the eaves!
There, now, there is one in her nest;
I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast,
And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook,
In the margin of my Gospel book.

(_He makes a sketch._)

I can see no more. Through the valley yonder
A shower is passing; I hear the thunder
Mutter its curses in the air,
The Devil's own and only prayer!
The dusty road is brown with rain,
And speeding on with might and main,
Hitherward rides a gallant train.
They do not parley, they cannot wait,
But hurry in at the convent gate.
What a fair lady! and beside her
What a handsome, graceful, noble rider!
Now she gives him her hand to alight;
They will beg a shelter for the night.
I will go down to the corridor,
And try to see that face once more;
It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint,
Or for one of the Maries I shall paint.

(_Goes out._)

* * * * *

THE CLOISTERS.

* * * * *

_The_ ABBOT ERNESTUS _pacing to and fro._

_Abbot._ Slowly, slowly up the wall
Steals the sunshine, steals the shade;
Evening damps begin to fall,
Evening shadows are displayed.
Round me, o'er me, everywhere,
All the sky is grand with clouds,
And athwart the evening air
Wheel the swallows home in crowds.
Shafts of sunshine from the west
Paint the dusky windows red;
Darker shadows, deeper rest,
Underneath and overhead.
Darker, darker, and more wan,
In my breast the shadows fall;
Upward steals the life of man,
As the sunshine from the wall.
From the wall into the sky,
From the roof along the spire;
Ah, the souls of those that die
Are but sunbeams lifted higher.

(_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY.)

_Prince Henry._ Christ is arisen!

_Abbot._ Amen! he is arisen!
His peace be with you!

_Prince Henry._ Here it reigns forever!
The peace of God, that passeth understanding,
Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors,
Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent?

_Abbot._ I am.

_Prince Henry._ And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck,
Who crave your hospitality to-night.

_Abbot._ You are thrice welcome to our humble walls.
You do us honor; and we shall requite it,
I fear, but poorly, entertaining you
With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine,
The remnants of our Easter holidays.

_Prince Henry._ How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau?
Are all things well with them?

_Abbot._ All things are well.

_Prince Henry._ A noble convent! I have known it long
By the report of travellers. I now see
Their commendations lag behind the truth.
You lie here in the valley of the Nagold
As in a nest: and the still river, gliding
Along its bed, is like an admonition
How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample,
And your revenues large. God's benediction
Rests on your convent.

_Abbot._ By our charities
We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master,
When he departed, left us in his will,
As our best legacy on earth, the poor!
These we have always with us; had we not,
Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones.

_Prince Henry._ If I remember right, the Counts of Calva
Founded your convent.

_Abbot._ Even as you say.

_Prince Henry._ And, if I err not, it is very old.

_Abbot._ Within these cloisters lie already buried
Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags
On which we stand, the Abbot William lies,
Of blessed memory.

_Prince Henry._ And whose tomb is that,
Which bears the brass escutcheon?

_Abbot._ A benefactor's.
Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood
Godfather to our bells.

_Prince Henry._ Your monks are learned
And holy men, I trust.

_Abbot._ There are among them
Learned and holy men. Yet in this age
We need another Hildebrand, to shake
And purify us like a mighty wind.
The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder
God does not lose his patience with it wholly,
And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times,
Within these walls, where all should be at peace,
I have my trials. Time has laid his hand
Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
Ashes are on my head, and on my lips
Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness
And weariness of life, that makes me ready
To say to the dead Abbots under us,
'Make room for me!' Only I see the dusk
Of evening twilight coming, and have not
Completed half my task; and so at times
The thought of my shortcomings in this life
Falls like a shadow on the life to come.

_Prince Henry._ We must all die, and not the old alone;
The young have no exemption from that doom.

_Abbot._ Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must!
That is the difference.

_Prince Henry._ I have heard much laud
Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium
Is famous among all, your manuscripts
Praised for their beauty and their excellence.

_Abbot._ That is indeed our boast. If you desire it,
You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile
Shall the Refectorarius bestow
Your horses and attendants for the night.

(_They go in. The Vesper-bell rings._)

* * * * *

THE CHAPEL.

* * * * *

_Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister
leading an old monk who is blind_.

_Prince Henry._ They are all gone, save one who lingers,
Absorbed in deep and silent prayer.
As if his heart could find no rest,
At times he beats his heaving breast
With clenched and convulsive fingers,
Then lifts them trembling in the air.
A chorister, with golden hair,
Guides hitherward his heavy pace.
Can it be so? Or does my sight
Deceive me in the uncertain light?
Ah no! I recognize that face,
Though Time has touched it in his flight,
And changed the auburn hair to white.
It is Count Hugo of the Rhine,
The deadliest foe of all our race,
And hateful unto me and mine!

_The Blind Monk_. Who is it that doth stand so near
His whispered words I almost hear?

_Prince Henry_. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck,
And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine!
I know you, and I see the scar,
The brand upon your forehead, shine
And redden like a baleful star!

_The Blind Monk_. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck
Of what I was. O Hoheneck!
The passionate will, the pride, the wrath
That bore me headlong on my path,
Stumbled and staggered into fear,
And failed me in my mad career,
As a tired steed some evil-doer,
Alone upon a desolate moor,
Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind,
And hearing loud and close behind
The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer.
Then suddenly, from the dark there came
A voice that called me by my name,
And said to me, 'Kneel down and pray!'
And so my terror passed away,
Passed utterly away forever.
Contrition, penitence, remorse,
Came on me, with o'erwhelming force;
A hope, a longing, an endeavor,
By days of penance and nights of prayer,
To frustrate and defeat despair!
Calm, deep, and still is now my heart.
With tranquil waters overflowed;
A lake whose unseen fountains start,
Where once the hot volcano glowed.
And you, O Prince of Hoheneck!
Have known me in that earlier time,
A man of violence and crime,
Whose passions brooked no curb nor check.
Behold me now, in gentler mood,
One of this holy brotherhood.
Give me your hand; here let me kneel;
Make your reproaches sharp as steel;
Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek;
No violence can harm the meek,
There is no wound Christ cannot heal!
Yes; lift your princely hand, and take
Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek,
Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake!

_Prince Henry._ Arise, Count Hugo! let there be
No farther strife nor enmity
Between us twain; we both have erred!
Too rash in act, too wroth in word,
From the beginning have we stood
In fierce, defiant attitude,
Each thoughtless of the other's right,
And each reliant on his might.
But now our souls are more subdued;
The hand of God, and not in vain,
Has touched us with the fire of pain.
Let us kneel down, and side by side
Pray, till our souls are purified,
And pardon will not be denied!

(_They kneel._)

* * * * *

THE REFECTORY.

* * * * *

_Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised
as a Friar._

_Friar Paul (sings)._ Ave! color vini clari,
Dulcis potus, non aman,
Tua nos inebriari
Digneris potentia!

_Friar Cuthbert._ Not so much noise, my worthy freres,
You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers.

_Friar Paul (sings)._ O! quam placens in colore!
O! quam fragrans in odore!
O! quam sapidum in ore!
Dulce linguse vinculum!

_Friar Cuthbert._ I should think your tongue had
broken its chain!

_Friar Paul (sings)._ Felix venter quern intrabis!
Felix guttur quod rigabis!
Felix os quod tu lavabis!
Et beata labia!

_Friar Cuthbert._ Peace! I say, peace!
Will you never cease!
You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again!

_Friar John._ No danger! to-night he will let us alone,
As I happen to know he has guests of his own.

_Friar Cuthbert._ Who are they?

_Friar John._ A German Prince and his train,
Who arrived here just before the rain.
There is with him a damsel fair to see,
As slender and graceful as a reed!
When she alighted from her steed,
It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree.

_Friar Cuthbert._ None of your pale-faced girls for me!

(_Kisses the girl at his side_.)

_Friar John._ Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg!
do not drink any farther, I beg!

_Friar Paul (sings)._ In the days of gold,
The days of old,
Cross of wood
And bishop of gold!

_Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)._ What an infernal racket and din!
No need not blush so, that's no sin.
You look very holy in this disguise,
Though there's something wicked in your eyes!

_Friar Paul (continues.)_ Now we have changed
That law so good,
To cross of gold
And bishop of wood!

_Friar Cuthbert._ I like your sweet face under a hood.
Sister! how came you into this way?

_Girl._ It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray.
Have you forgotten that day in June,
When the church was so cool in the afternoon,
And I came in to confess my sins?
That is where my ruin begins.

_Friar John._ What is the name of yonder friar,
With an eye that glows like a coal of fire,
And such a black mass of tangled hair?

_Friar Paul._ He who is sitting there,
With a rollicking,
Devil may care,
Free and easy look and air,
As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking?

_Friar John._ The same.

_Friar Paul._ He's a stranger. You had better ask his name,
And where he is going, and whence he came.

_Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar!

_Friar Paul._ You must raise your voice a little higher,
He does not seem to hear what you say.
Now, try again! He is looking this way.

_Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar,
We wish to inquire
Whence you came, and where you are going,
And anything else that is worth the knowing.
So be so good as to open your head.

_Lucifer._ I am a Frenchman born and bred,
Going on a pilgrimage to Rome.
My home
Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys,
Of which, very like, you never have heard.

_Monks._ Never a word!

_Lucifer._ You must know, then, it is in the diocese
Called the Diocese of Vannes,
In the province of Brittany.
From the gray rocks of Morbihan
It overlooks the angry sea;
The very seashore where,
In his great despair,
Abbot Abelard walked to and fro,
Filling the night with woe,
And wailing aloud to the merciless seas
The name of his sweet Heloise!
Whilst overhead
The convent windows gleamed as red
As the fiery eyes of the monks within,
Who with jovial din
Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin!
Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey!
Over the doors,
None of your death-heads carved in wood,
None of your Saints looking pious and good,
None of your Patriarchs old and shabby!
But the heads and tusks of boars,
And the cells
Hung all round with the fells
of the fallow-deer,
And then what cheer!
What jolly, fat friars,
Sitting round the great, roaring fires,
Roaring louder than they,
With their strong wines,
And their concubines,
And never a bell,
With its swagger and swell,
Calling you up with a start of affright
In the dead of night,
To send you grumbling down dark stairs,
To mumble your prayers,
But the cheery crow
Of cocks in the yard below,
After daybreak, an hour or so,
And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds,
These are the sounds
That, instead of bells, salute the ear.
And then all day
Up and away
Through the forest, hunting the deer!
Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here
You are a little too pious, a little too tame,
And the more is the shame,
It is the greatest folly
Not to be jolly;
That's what I think!
Come, drink, drink,
Drink, and die game!

_Monks,_ And your Abbot What's-his-name?

_Lucifer._ Abelard!

_Monks._ Did he drink hard?

_Lucifer._ O, no! Not he!
He was a dry old fellow,
Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow.
There he stood,
Lowering at us in sullen mood,
As if he had come into Brittany
Just to reform our brotherhood!

(_A roar of laughter_.)

But you see
It never would do!
For some of us knew a thing or two,
In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys!
For instance, the great ado
With old Fulbert's niece,
The young and lovely Heloise!

_Friar John._ Stop there, if you please,
Till we drink to the fair Heloise.

_All (drinking and shouting)._ Heloise! Heloise!

(_The Chapel-bell tolls_.)

_Lucifer (starting)._ What is that bell for? Are you such asses
As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses?

_Friar Cuthbert._ It is only a poor, unfortunate brother,
Who is gifted with most miraculous powers
Of getting up at all sorts of hours,
And, by way of penance and Christian meekness,
Of creeping silently out of his cell
To take a pull at that hideous bell;
So that all the monks who are lying awake
May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake,
And adapted to his peculiar weakness!

_Friar John._ From frailty and fall--

_All._ Good Lord, deliver us all!

_Friar Cuthbert._ And before the bell for matins sounds,
He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds,
Flashing it into our sleepy eyes,
Merely to say it is time to arise.
But enough of that. Go on, if you please,
With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys.

_Lucifer._ Well, it finally came to pass
That, half in fun and half in malice,
One Sunday at Mass
We put some poison into the chalice.
But, either by accident or design,
Peter Abelard kept away
From the chapel that day,
And a poor, young friar, who in his stead
Drank the sacramental wine,
Fell on the steps of the altar, dead!
But look! do you see at the window there
That face, with a look of grief and despair,
That ghastly face, as of one in pain?

_Monks._ Who? where?

_Lucifer._ As I spoke, it vanished away again.

_Friar Cuthbert._ It is that nefarious
Siebald the Refectorarius.
That fellow is always playing the scout,
Creeping and peeping and prowling about;
And then he regales
The Abbot with Scandalous tales.

_Lucifer_. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers
Telling scandalous tales of the others?
Out upon him, the lazy loon!
I would put a stop to that pretty soon,
In a way he should rue it.

_Monks_. How shall we do it?

_Lucifer_. Do you, brother Paul,
Creep under the window, close to the wall,
And open it suddenly when I call.
Then seize the villain by the hair,
And hold him there,
And punish him soundly, once for all.

_Friar Cuthbert_. As St. Dustan of old,
We are told,
Once caught the Devil by the nose!

_Lucifer_. Ha! ha! that story is very clever,
But has no foundation whatsoever.
Quick! for I see his face again
Glaring in at the window pane;
Now! now! and do not spare your blows.

(FRIAR PAUL _opens the window suddenly, and seizes_
SIEBALD. _They beat him._)

_Friar Siebald_. Help! help! are you going to slay me?

_Friar Paul_. That will teach you again to betray me!

_Friar Siebald_. Mercy! mercy!

_Friar Paul_ (_shouting and beating_). Rumpas bellorum lorum,
Vim confer amorum
Morum verorum, rorun.
Tu plena polorum!

_Lucifer_. Who stands in the doorway yonder,
Stretching out his trembling hand,
Just as Abelard used to stand,
The flash of his keen, black eyes
Forerunning the thunder?

_The Monks (in confusion)_. The Abbot! the
Abbot!

_Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)_. Put on your disguise!

_Friar Francis_. Hide the great flagon
From the eyes of the dragon!

_Friar Cuthbert_. Pull the brown hood over your face,
Lest you bring me into disgrace!

_Abbot_. What means this revel and carouse?
Is this a tavern and drinking-house?
Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils,
To pollute this convent with your revels?
Were Peter Damian still upon earth,
To be shocked by such ungodly mirth,
He would write your names, with pen of gall,
In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all!
Away, you drunkards! to your cells,
And pray till you hear the matin-bells;
You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul!
And as a penance mark each prayer
With the scourge upon your shoulders bare;
Nothing atones for such a sin
But the blood that follows the discipline.
And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me
Alone into the sacristy;
You, who should be a guide to your brothers,
And are ten times worse than all the others,
For you I've a draught that has long been brewing
You shall do a penance worth the doing!
Away to your prayers, then, one and all!
I wonder the very, convent wall
Does not crumble and crush you in its fall!

* * * * *

THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY.

* * * * *

_The_ ABBESS IRMINGARD _sitting with_ ELSIE _in the
moonlight._

_Irmingard_ The night is silent, the wind is still,
The moon is looking from yonder hill
Down upon convent, and grove, and garden;
The clouds have passed away from her face,
Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace,
Only the tender and quiet grace
Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon!

And such am I. My soul within
Was dark with passion and soiled with sin.
But now its wounds are healed again;
Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain;
For across that desolate land of woe,
O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go,
A wind from heaven began to blow;
And all my being trembled and shook,
As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field,
And I was healed, as the sick are healed,
When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book!

As thou sittest in the moonlight there,
Its glory flooding thy golden hair,
And the only darkness that which lies
In the haunted chambers of thine eyes,
I feel my soul drawn unto thee,
Strangely, and strongly, and more and more,
As to one I have known and loved before;
For every soul is akin to me
That dwells in the land of mystery!
I am the Lady Irmingard,
Born of a noble race and name!
Many a wandering Suabian bard,
Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard,
Has found through me the way to fame.
Brief and bright were those days, and the night
Which followed was full of a lurid light.
Love, that of every woman's heart
Will have the whole, and not a part,
That is to her, in Nature's plan,
More than ambition is to man,
Her light, her life, her very breath,
With no alternative but death,
Found me a maiden soft and young,
Just from the convent's cloistered school,
And seated on my lowly stool,
Attentive while the minstrels sung.

Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall,
Fairest, noblest, best of all,
Was Walter of the Vogelweid,
And, whatsoever may betide,
Still I think of him with pride!
His song was of the summer-time
The very birds sang in his rhyme;
The sunshine, the delicious air,
The fragrance of the flowers, were there,
And I grew restless as I heard,
Restless and buoyant as a bird,
Down soft, aerial currents sailing,
O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom,
And through the momentary gloom
Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing,
Yielding and borne I knew not where,
But feeling resistance unavailing.

And thus, unnoticed and apart,
And more by accident than choice.
I listened to that single voice
Until the chambers of my heart
Were filled with it by night and day,
One night,--it was a night in May,--
Within the garden, unawares,
Under the blossoms in the gloom,
I heard it utter my own name
With protestations and wild prayers;
And it rang through me, and became
Like the archangel's trump of doom,
Which the soul hears, and must obey;
And mine arose as from a tomb.
My former life now seemed to me
Such as hereafter death may be,
When in the great Eternity
We shall awake and find it day.

It was a dream, and would not stay;
A dream, that in a single night
Faded and vanished out of sight.
My father's anger followed fast
This passion, as a freshening blast
Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage
It may increase, but not assuage.
And he exclaimed: 'No wandering bard
Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard!
For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck
By messenger and letter sues.'

Gently, but firmly, I replied:
'Henry of Hoheneck I discard!
Never the hand of Irmingard
Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!'
This said I, Walter, for thy sake:
This said I, for I could not choose.
After a pause, my father spake
In that cold and deliberate tone
Which turns the hearer into stone,
And seems itself the act to be
That follows with such dread certainty;
'This, or the cloister and the veil!'
No other words than these he said,
But they were like a funeral wail;
My life was ended, my heart was dead.

That night from the castle-gate went down,
With silent, slow, and stealthy pace,
Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds,
Taking the narrow path that leads
Into the forest dense and brown,
In the leafy darkness of the place,
One could not distinguish form nor face,
Only a bulk without a shape,
A darker shadow in the shade;
One scarce could say it moved or stayed,
Thus it was we made our escape!
A foaming brook, with many a bound,
Followed us like a playful hound;
Then leaped before us, and in the hollow
Paused, and waited for us to follow,
And seemed impatient, and afraid
That our tardy flight should be betrayed
By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made,
And when we reached the plain below,
He paused a moment and drew rein
To look back at the castle again;
And we saw the windows all aglow
With lights, that were passing to and fro;
Our hearts with terror ceased to beat;
The brook crept silent to our feet;
We knew what most we feared to know.
Then suddenly horns began to blow;
And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp,
And our horses snorted in the damp
Night-air of the meadows green and wide,
And in a moment, side by side,
So close, they must have seemed but one,
The shadows across the moonlight run,
And another came, and swept behind,
Like the shadow of clouds before the wind!

How I remember that breathless flight
Across the moors, in the summer night!
How under our feet the long, white road
Backward like a river flowed,
Sweeping with it fences and hedges,
Whilst farther away, and overhead,
Paler than I, with fear and dread,
The moon fled with us, as we fled
Along the forest's jagged edges!

All this I can remember well;
But of what afterward befell
I nothing farther can recall
Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall;
The rest is a blank and darkness all.
When I awoke out of this swoon,
The sun was shining, not the moon,
Making a cross upon the wall
With the bars of my windows narrow and tall;
And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray,
From early childhood, day by day,
Each morning, as in bed I lay!
I was lying again in my own room!
And I thanked God, in my fever and pain,
That those shadows on the midnight plain
Were gone, and could not come again!
I struggled no longer with my doom!
This happened many years ago.
I left my father's home to come
Like Catherine to her martyrdom,
For blindly I esteemed it so.
And when I heard the convent door
Behind me close, to ope no more,
I felt it smite me like a blow,
Through all my limbs a shudder ran,
And on my bruised spirit fell
The dampness of my narrow cell
As night-air on a wounded man,
Giving intolerable pain.

But now a better life began,
I felt the agony decrease
By slow degrees, then wholly cease,
Ending in perfect rest and peace!
It was not apathy, nor dulness,
That weighed and pressed upon my brain,
But the same passion I had given
To earth before, now turned to heaven
With all its overflowing fulness.

Alas! the world is full of peril!
The path that runs through the fairest meads,
On the sunniest side of the valley, leads
Into a region bleak and sterile!
Alike in the high-born and the lowly,
The will is feeble, and passion strong.
We cannot sever right from wrong;
Some falsehood mingles with all truth;
Nor is it strange the heart of youth
Should waver and comprehend but slowly
The things that are holy and unholy!

But in this sacred and calm retreat,
We are all well and safely shielded
From winds that blow, and waves that beat,
From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat,
To which the strongest hearts have yielded.
Here we stand as the Virgins Seven,
For our celestial bridegroom yearning;
Our hearts are lamps forever burning,
With a steady and unwavering flame,
Pointing upward, forever the same,
Steadily upward toward the Heaven!

The moon is hidden behind a cloud;
A sudden darkness fills the room,
And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom,
Shine like jewels in a shroud.
On the leaves is a sound of falling rain;
A bird, awakened in its nest,
Gives a faint twitter of unrest,
Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again.

No other sounds than these I hear;
The hour of midnight must be near.
Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue
Of riding many a dusty league;
Sink, then, gently to thy slumber;
Me so many cares encumber,
So many ghosts, and forms of fright,
Have started from their graves to-night,
They have driven sleep from mine eyes away:
I will go down to the chapel and pray.

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When I Die

When I die I want to go to heaven
I don't want to end up in hell,
I want to live my life the best as I can
And I do as what my bible does tell.

When I go to bed I want to say a prayer
I want GOD to know his words will not fail,
I live the life as I know it should be lived
And when I die, I will not go to hell.

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You Are, You Are

You are you are
Hopefully mistaken
Like old ties
Youll soon be broken down
Like all the rest who tried
You are you are
Something quite surprising
Storys odd
Concerning love
The scene will change for you, you know
You are you are
Just a good reflection
Nothing more
Youd like to take me for the world
To see you leave
You are you are
A living exhibition
Defying age
Like a seasoned veteran
Of men for cash
I know how to hide and wait for you
I know how to wait I wont forget
Exactly what you are
See her shine like stars
Before they burn
See her shine with stars
Before they fade away
Such a shame
The best of fame

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I Will Take The Money

In assets quite poor with little cash to my name
I will take the money you can have the fame
Your fame it will not buy you a loaf of bread
No you have the fame I'll have money instead
Your money speaks more of you as it does seem
Than fame or it's sibling known as high esteem
With money as such they cannot hope to compare
This simple truth with you I only do share
Few things money cannot buy that much we do know
And on bushes and trees money it does not grow
In life it is quite important it does seem that way
And it does speak every language as some are known to say
Perhaps I may sound greedy for that me do not blame
When I say I will take the money you can have the fame.

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You Are A RainbowToo

Its cloudy all over, and heaven's all grey
The sun, has lost all its warmth and rays
But halt!
did you see something?
A Rainbow up there!
bridging the gap between Hope and Despair!
Braving the Greys, all by itself!
And promising light back in air..
When its dark and gloomy, fending for yourself,
all alone are you....
Dont despair...........,
Remember YOU ARE A RAINBOW TOO! !
For you too have all those hues within.
a dash of fortitude, a tinge of faith inbetween
With your pack of shades, you too can conquer the realms you invade
Its time you go out and face the dark,
with true spirits of a Rainbow,
And its a promise that you can hark.....
The Clouds bidding Adieu for sure.........! !

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You Are My Shadow

My shadow has atleast been of my size.
It was not mine for long, I proclaim

About my shadow very close to me
I think at times my dear you are a little bigger.
It is a shadow that needs no sun
Nor the kindness of a moon.
You are that- I have ever felt.

After me and before me
It moves like my past and future dear...
A shadow that wades across my world of no fun
Or the nod of a god who gives no boon.
You are that-I have ever said.

When I won`t exist in tomorrow`s world
What will you do my dear?
In the chambers of darkness ahead
Will you burn for our little one?
You are to answer-I have ever said.

My shadow has been mine thus
As you begin to shrink to my size.
You have never been so earlier
I am now to stand in the sun and under the moon
You have already answered.

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You Are The Sea

The cruelest thing to someone like me
You wash towards me, covering everything
Then pull away and disappear again

You infiltrate every cell of me
I gladly wrap my hope and joy in you
Then you gradually disappear again

I've been sitting in this hotel room for so long
I keep thinking I hear the phone ringing
But it's not
I keep thinking I see the sun rising
But it's not
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me

I say too much on the subject
I dwell too long on the subject
Can't shake your face
Can't shake your name from my head
Said too much again
I've said too much again

The cruelest thing to someone like me
Is what I do to myself, waiting for high-tide
Ignoring everything I have, torturing myself

The craziness in me is just spilling over
Diving into shallow water from the rocks
Forgetting everything I have, torturing myself

I've been sitting at this bar for far too long
I keep thinking I hear your voice behind me
But I'm wrong
I keep thinking I see you walking by
But I'm wrong
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me

It's been nearly a year of concentrated longing now
Nearly a year of pining after the sea and the girl
Nearly a year and no single step closer
Nearly a year and still I don't know her

I keep thinking this is what I really need
But it's not
I keep thinking this is all so clear
But I'm wrong
It's just the sea
Playing its tricks on me
You are the sea
Playing your tricks on me
You are the sea
And I should let go
I should let go

Why can't I let go?
Is pain all I can know?

I'm washing my hands
I'm washing my hands of you
I'm washing them
In the sea
I'm washing my hands of you
Washing them
In the sea
And letting go of you
I'm letting go of the sea...

(2009)

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You Are Ii

You are more beautiful than sunset on Waikiki beach
You are so pleasing to the eyes that my soul cries out tears of joy
You are like the dawn that brings on a new day
You are like the dew makes the flowers grow each morning

You are as pure as the white sands of the Caribbean
You are like a starlit night in Negril Jamaica
You are as beautiful as the birds of Panama
You are as gentle as the flowers that blooms in a secret garden

You are mother earth and I a son of your creation
You are like the moon that lovers gaze upon
You are the light that shines through the great void in space and time
You are the beauty that cannot be denied nor summarized

You are all things great and small
You are the source that mere mortals cannot resist
You are the sun that brings life to the heavens
You are everything and everything is you

You are like a waterfall that its mist gently flows over my body
I would surrender my all for just one moment in your arms
I would spend every waking moment worshiping your grace
No pedestal could be high enough for you to sit upon

By your command men would lay down their very lives for you
Just hearing your voice sends men into frenzy
Just one word brings joy into this world
You are a living dream come to life incarnate

If you were a dream I would spend my life sleeping
I would never wake to face a day without you in it
I would stay comatose until a kiss from your lips sends me flying
You mean more than words could ever coherently be spoken

You are the embodiment of what a woman should be
There is no place I would rather be with than right by your side
Cuddling with you as like paradise taken twice fold
In all things I would put you first

You are more glamorous than any gown designed by Christian Dior
You are more fabulous than any diamond set upon Angelina Jolie’s finger
You are more precious that black pearls found of the shores of Tahiti
You are the spark that sets the world aflame

You are the nectar carried by the bees that is the delicacy of the gods
You are like the fabric of life worn to perfection
Sweet, filling, and delightful for you are life’s dessert
I will serve you humbly till time fades away

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When I die

When Michael or Gabriel
comes for me
do not write
RIP on my grave
or leave a rousing poem
and just let me be me.

When I die let me lie,
in a humble
piece of earth.

When I rise I will see
the Creator
with my own eyes
and this earth,
will only be
like a bed to me.

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You Are In Love

You have a very soft body and,
Very soft lips too;
You are in, over and over!
And, i am here for you.
Hold me tight and press me on,
Let the star in you shine upon me;
You are in love and,
I know that.
You are all that i have,
You are all the i dream of;
I am in love and you are in love too.
Lovely lips and soft body,
Hold me tight all night long;
You are that i need and,
You are in love.

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You Are Never Alone

you are never alone even if you feel so

people love you they love your glow

you are never alone even if you are the only person that you see

pepole love you cause of who your going to be

you are never alone even if people tell you cause they what your heart

which is pure and sweet that' makes there heart break cause they do

not have what it takes

so do not never feel alone cause there happy your here

and forever will be your never alone

L& H

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You Are Just Arriving

You are just arriving.
And I have been here!
Don't think that I am going to be a gracious host!
You may at times find me gracious...
But a host I am not.
You are here on your own.

When your eyes opened..
That's when your reality for you began.
Some things you see you may find unbelieveable!
Do not tax your mind.
Believe it!
Do not try to find understanding.
You'll get stuck in that quicksand like the others.

You are just arriving.
And I have been here!
Don't think that I am going to be a gracious host!
You may at times find me gracious...
But a host I am not.
You are here on your own.

When I first discovered reality...
I was taunted and teased.
With disgusting disrespect!
You are just arriving.
You may not notice or suspect,
The depth of their ignorance.
You will.
And that's gauranteed.

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I Was A Little Too Lonely

(jay livingston, raymond evans)
You promised me you'd come back,
I promised to wait.
But i was a little too lonely,
And you were a little too late.
Too many long nights alone,
Not even a date.
So i got a little too lonely,
And you were a little too late.
You never did write, you never did call.
When i had the blues, you were havin' a ball.
You thought that i'd be here to run to,
Now i'm gonna do to you what i've been done to.
Too bad about you, my friend,
It could've been great.
But i was a little too lonely,
And now you're a little too late.
~interlude~
You never did write, you never did call.
When i had the blues, you were havin' a ball.
You thought that i'd be here to run to,
Now i'm gonna do to you what i've been done to.
Too bad about you, my friend,
It could've been great.
But i got a little too lonely,
And you were a little too late!

song performed by Nat King ColeReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
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