I've finished life's chores assigned to me,
So put me on a boat headed out to sea.
Please send along my fishing pole
For I've been invited to the fishin' hole.
Where every day is a day to fish,
To fill your heart with every wish.
Don't worry, or feel sad for me,
I'm fishin' with the Master of the sea.
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
I was about to be mugged by a man
with a chain so angry he growled
at the Lincoln Center subway station
when out of nowhere appeared a tall
chubby-faced Hasidic Jew with peyot
and a black hat a black coat white shirt
with prayer-shawl fringes showing
we walked together out of the station
and when we got outside and shook hands
I noticed he was blind. Goodbye,
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers,
But they are troops who fade, not flowers
For poets' tearful fooling:
SPONTANEOUS me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with,
The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,
The hill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash,
The same, late in autumn--the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and
light and dark green,
The rich coverlid of the grass--animals and birds--the private
untrimm'd bank--the primitive apples--the pebble-stones,
Beautiful dripping fragments--the negligent list of one after
another, as I happen to call them to me, or think of them,
Cozy, snuggly, curled up tight
People think I'm sleeping, but that is far from being right,
With one eye open, the other tightly shut
I plough the very trade refined by every cat.
Quiet adoration amongst the whispered sighs
For this wonderful creation, nature's wily prize.
And all the while I'm lounging, perched upon my throne
Surveying my domain from this place I call home.
I'm fed and duly watered, patted when I wish,
My life a constant slumber, something I call Bliss,
I empty my pockets and remove my shoes
Becoming weightless in a saturated world.
Floating skyward with no control,
Looking down on the little people
Driving their little cars
Living their little lives.
Everlasting, the little Earth carries on.
At 22:00 she would come out looking
Would call out his name
and eventually find him by the
sandbox or the slide
and would dust him off a bit
and take him home
and feed him
As she’d put him to bed
All are wanted it self...
Nothing to think...
In every where...
Love also it self...
That is life for Today
This is for life?
Go away for all
Wanted each every one
I have two children now full-grown
A lovely daughter and handsome son
My daughter was my very firstborn
So for this poem, she's number one
Her birth date comes in early July
She has beautiful strawberry blond hair
And I love to see her let it fly
In the summer breeze without a care