Quotes about spry, page 3
Spanish Men
The Men of Seville are, they say,
The laziest of Spain.
Consummate artists in delay,
Allergical to strain;
Fr if you have a job for them,
And beg them to be spry,
They only look at you with phlegm:
"Mañana," they reply.
The Men of gay Madrid, I'm told,
Siesta's law revere;
The custom is so ages old,
And to tradition dear;
So if you want a job done soon,
And shyly ask them: "When?"
They say: "Come back this afternoon:
We'll hope to do it them."
The Men of Barcelona are
Such mostly little caps,
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poem by Robert William Service
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Ardath
Consuming passion to inhale deeply
life's felt thirst, a staircase to steeply
untamed and of ghostly Hades bows
as Nymphs from dark, death bestow.
A strength of spirit, romancing avid,
sword craftsman fought Almoravid
glory endows, wrought armory spry
Hades bestows, Orthodoxy complies
Warrior of border, honor imperium
Alea iacta est, Alis volat Aeternum
purple day flower, agile to abreact,
one day to live, and sign Pluton pact.
Guardian of border, 'alis volat propriis'
death challenges her 'Ars gratia artis'
Devoid of fear, 'Amat victoria curam'
Honors to 'viam inveniam aut faciam'
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Pearl, Merle and Earl
Pearl, Merle and Earl are an unlikely crew…
The two girls are 87; the ol’ man 92.
They say they live alone, but hardly true
Their cavalcade of caretakers is always in view.
There’s the day nurse and night nurse
And the two for weekends.
Then the stock boy who buys the food
And a healthy dose of Depends.
Pearl, Merle and Earl can still get around
With jaunts getting shorter with less of a sound.
They love everybody, but one thing all hate;
Why can’t folks keep their simple names straight?
“I’m Pearl with one “e” not at the end of my name.
“I’m Merle with two “e’s”, but pronounced the same.”
“It’s Earl. My one “E” is a capital letter at the start.”
This spry crew will tug at the strings of your heart.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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The relay race
I may have been the slowest child
to ever run in track and field
I was a foodie even then
with not the fastest set of wheels.
I still have the medal that I won
for finishing in second place.
awarded to our relay team
In a two team relay race
I was the anchor(aptly named)
they could have called me 'ball and chain'
The other three were none to spry
We were well matched those three and I.
By the time the baton reached my hand
My competitor neared the promised land
I set out full steam(for me)
as he crossed the line to victory.
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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Having A Whale Of A Time!
'Gangway! Gangway! I'm coming through! '
The massive whale declared!
'Yes, move aside, I'm wide, it's true!
If quick, you won't get scared!
I'll wave goodbye as I swim past!
Then I'll bid you farewell...
My, my, I'm really going fast!
As if you couldn't tell...'
'The new kid on the block, that's me!
I've not been here before!
I've put on weight, that's plain to see...
I'm bound to eat much more!
One day, I might be twice the size!
If that were possible!
I'll exercise, don't worry, guys!
I'll still look wonderful! '
'It's warm today, I'm feeling spry...
Quite frisky, don't you know?
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poem by Denis Martindale
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Sunlit Beauty
She was poised there like a princess
Whose heart could still be won,
A pretty precious lioness
Was basking in the sun...
Her sunlit beauty there on show,
For one and all to see,
Amid a wondrous golden glow
Of pure serenity...
This was her chance, her finest hour,
Her moment fixed in time,
When she exuded sensual power,
Alluring and sublime...
Mature in ways that Nature knew,
Content to wait a while...
She sensed this was the thing to do,
To help raise her profile...
The midday heat would help her cause!
The bristling breeze sailed by...
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poem by Denis Martindale
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Fidelity Personified for M'lady Ernestine.
Fidelity personified
Though he was old he was still spry
enough to manage on his own.
Although he’d had a family.
They were grown up and long since gone.
The kept in touch spasmodically
by letter and by telephone.
But very seldom came to see
him in the home they’d known.
Throughout their happy childhood days
But times moves on and so did they
They chose to go their different ways
and one by one they moved away.
Dad would remain until he died
and would be laid to rest beside.
The woman he had loved the best
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Indian Adolescent
The Bengal tiger cub looked fine,
On top form for his age,
Maturing like the finest wine
And not locked in a cage...
As free as birds that fly the sky,
As wily as the rest,
As fast as those that seem so spry,
The tiger cub looked blessed.
Consider everything you know,
Of all the creatures seen,
His fur looks like it's all aglow,
Magnificent, serene...
He's on the prowl, for who knows what?
No longer playing games...
And now he'll give it all he's got,
With newly-focused aims...
He's confident that he must win,
He's steadfast through and through...
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poem by Denis Martindale
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Sentry Duty
The mighty meerkat made his stand,
No matter, come what may,
As if to say, 'Talk to the hand!
You'd best be on your way! '
With no regard for his own life,
He boldly stood his ground,
Against each foe who would arrive
He gives his warning sound!
On sentry duty, so to speak,
His eyes looked everywhere,
His ears alert to every creak
That crossed the very air...
His whiskers twitching now and then,
His every nerve on edge...
His instincts tuned beyond our ken
As he stood on that ledge...
The mighty meerkat! What a guy!
One of the chosen few!
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poem by Denis Martindale
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A love slave's shanty to a goddess...
I'd like to look for—the spry-blossom, called Phoebe
There is nought as virtuous, or saintly, as the white gypsy...
I'd like to find me—that last green forget-me-not
What matter the cost, if I don't hit the jackpot...
I'd like to look for—the pale goddess of the moon;
She unto me should be a sun, and I her Neptune!
If she would but, peel me in her "bergamot-palm
...Sister of Apollo". I'd shyly-sing my last, psalm...
Lie with me; with the trident in Poseidon, crowned:
Enter within me, all thy eternity newly bound...
Love, let no mountain-shade you're innate-fancy
Earthquake: Wild horses, shall not tether my fiancée.
Like the smoking-waves upon the sirens-shore
I'll descend to meet her when, the rocks of thunder-roar.
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poem by Mark Heathcote
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