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Colyn Cloute

Quis consurget mecum adversus malignantes ?
aut quis stabit mecum adversus operantes iniqui-
tatem ? Nemo, Domine !

W H A T can it auayle
To dryue forth a snayle,
Or to make a sayle
Of an herynges tayle ;
To ryme or to rayle,
To wryte or to indyte,
Eyther for delyte
Or elles for despyte ;
Or bokes to compyle
Of dyuers maner style, 10
Vyce to reuyle
And synne to exyle ;
To teche or to preche,
As reason wyll reche ?
Say this, and say that,
His hed is so fat,

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poem by John Skelton
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The Dream Of I

so peaceful and quite the endless sky
the burden i carry how did it come by after
all i did was a dream to fly

A dream so navie so hug to die
so helpless and weak a dream like it
the world is to big for a dream like mine

to busy with the life's that pass it by
farwell my dream, today i shall die
no longer am i a dreamer 'causes dreams are for the weak

for now a days i wish to dream another dream
'cause forever you seek and question why
so many dreams like you have to die

farwell my dream, THE DREAM OF I! ! ! ! !

poem by Joyce Beh
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Farewell Farewell I Bid You Adieu

How do you say Farewell to a
loved on who's passed on, there
are no words to say except
Farewell
Saying Farwell to friend who's
stabed you in the back, there to many
to say many we cant mention

Farewell to a failded marriage can
be healthy for the heart, and were glad
were now apart.
Farewell ''see you soon''
Farewell ''come back real soon''.

Farewell to a co worker who's
retireing
Farwell ''I shant be back''
Adieu Adieu I bid you Adieu.
Farewell parting is such sweet
sorrow.

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poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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There is no substitute for victory.

Douglas McArthur in Farwell Speech to Joint Session of US Congress, 1952
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The Rhinoceros

The rhino is a homely beast,
For human eyes he's not a feast.
Farwell, farewell, you old rhinoceros,
I'll stare at something less prepoceros.

poem by Ogden Nash
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Luck

I sought a four-leaved clover,—
The grass was gemmed with dew,—
I searched the meadow over
To find a four-leaved clover;
I was a lucky rover,—
You sought the charm-grass, too,
And seeking luck and clover
I found it—finding you.

poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 15, Issue 3 (1893)
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The Tryst

A TRYST had I with the bright sun to keep
Upon a little hill-top in the dew;
I promised him to wake mine eyes from sleep
And see him paint the dappled dawn anew,—
To meet him by the rose-bush in the brake,
Aye, e'en before the lark should be awake.
I gave my promise as the sun sank red,
And then I softly stole away to bed.

poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 24, Issue 5 (1898)
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Silver Line (2005r)

We sat in a lounge headed south,
just travelers on the silver line.
We drank and smoked
to music and stories.
Felt the rythm of the tracks
setting a tone for the trip.
We gambled and laughed,
we bragged and fell somber.
We welcomed and said farwell
to those joining us through the night.
And when I came to,
as the sun started to rise,
They were gone like whispers,
just memories of the silver line.

poem by Patrick Wescott
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A Farewell to Michael Jackson

Farewell King Of Pop, Farewell Moon Walker
Farewell Michael Jackson, Farwell our best joker.
Here is Michael Jackson, the one,
who connected the black and white
he has forever gone
taking with him the world's light.
The earth is crying for you Jackson
& People are doing the same
They are missing you Jackson
and your big music flame.
All I can do is to say Good bye
Hoping for you a calm sleep
We are leaving you with our face holding a sad sigh
and our hearts saving your memory in deep.
We are leaving you with a big tear
and hoping you could hear.
Bye King Michael

poem by Reem Ehab
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I Did Not Know

I did not know—
And it was but a few short days ago—
How near to spring, it was; the world lay still
In all the bitter cold of winter chill;
Yet even then the May-buds with the glow
Of burning lips pressed to the melting snow
Had kissed themselves a window, to the sky,—
And spring was nigh.

I did not know—
Ah, was it such a little while ago!—
Within my heart how near it was to spring;
I did not guess the blessed blossoming,
Until this gladsome morn I woke, and lo!
Sweet with new fragrance does the whole world grow
From that so fair and snow-sprung flower dear,—
And spring is here!

poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 24, Issue 2 (1898)
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