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~The Dragon Flies' Lair V~
November 25, 2003
| bentfeather
Posted on 11/25/2003 2:52:28 PM PST by Soaring Feather
My Dragon Fly and Me
If I could be a Dragon Fly and wing my way through the sky I would never be shy just me and my Dragon Fly!
By moonlight we ride the wind chase the comets tail for fun by day we would hide from the sun our fragile wings would come undone
On darkest nights we would use fireflies as our guides we would dip and we would glide through the heavens open wide and scatter diamonds in the night sky my Dragon Fly and I...
And we would wing past our lovers silent in the night... to kiss their face in our flight much to their surprise and delight my Dragon Fly and me in sight...
Such a view do we share away up here in the air of breezes soft through our hair my Dragon Fly and me a pair...
bentfeather©
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TOPICS: Chit/Chat; Hobbies; Miscellaneous; Poetry
KEYWORDS: hobbies; humour; michaeldobbs; poems; poets; prose
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To: All

Good night poets.
Touch the graphic to hear The Bagpipes play Amazing Grace.
To: SAMWolf; snippy_about_it; Colonel_Flagg; Conspiracy Guy; Darksheare; Darkchylde; radu; ...

Good Monday morning everyone in the Lair!
It's a new day today!
Comment #583 Removed by Moderator
To: Conspiracy Guy
Good morning CG!!
So glad you are on the job at all hours! She is everywhere and you find her! LOL
Good work by the way.
To: bentfeather
The cattle were very greatful. She was eating all the graze and smelled bad.
585
posted on
12/08/2003 6:41:06 AM PST
by
Conspiracy Guy
(Ignorance can be corrected with knowledge. Stupid is permanent.)
To: Conspiracy Guy
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!
To: bentfeather
Bless you!
587
posted on
12/08/2003 7:00:37 AM PST
by
Conspiracy Guy
(Ignorance can be corrected with knowledge. Stupid is permanent.)
To: Conspiracy Guy
Thank You CG!
Did you have a good weekend?
To: All
Paper Route
Forty-three years seems like a long time to remember the
name of a mere acquaintance. I have duly forgotten the name
of an old lady who was a customer on my paper route when I
was a twelve-year-old boy in Marinette, Wisconsin back in
1954. Yet it seems like just yesterday that she taught me a
lesson in forgiveness that I can only hope to pass on to
someone else someday.
On a mindless Saturday afternoon, a friend and I were
throwing rocks onto the roof of the old lady's house from
a secluded spot in her backyard. The object of our play was
to observe how the rocks changed to missiles as they rolled
to the roofs edge and shot out into the yard like comets
falling from the sky.
I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and sent it for a ride.
The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped from my hand
as I let it go and headed straight for a small window on the
old lady's back porch. At the sound of fractured glass, we
took off from the old lady's yard faster than any of our
missiles flew off her roof. I was too scared about getting
caught that first night to be concerned about the old lady
with the broken porch window.
However, a few days later, when I was sure that I hadn't been
discovered, I started to feel guilty for her misfortune. She
still greeted me with a smile each day when I gave her the
paper, but I was no longer able to act comfortable in her
presence. I made up my mind that I would save my paper
delivery money, and in three weeks, I had the seven dollars
that I calculated would cover the cost of her window.
I put the money in an envelope with a note explaining that I
was sorry for breaking her window and hoped that the seven
dollars would cover the cost for repairing it. I waited until
it was dark, snuck up to the old lady's house, and put the
envelope of retribution through the letter slot in her door.
My soul felt redeemed, and I couldn't wait for the freedom of,
once again, looking straight into the old lady's eyes.
The next day, I handed the old lady her paper and was able to
return the warm smile that I was receiving from her. She
thanked me for the paper and said, "Here, I have something
for you."
It was a bag of cookies. I thanked her and proceeded to eat
the cookies, as I continued my route. After several cookies,
I felt an envelope and pulled it out of the bag. When I
opened the envelope, I was stunned.
Inside were the seven dollars and a short note that said,
"I'm proud of you."
Author Unknown
To: bentfeather
CG always has a good weekend. CG always has a good day. CG always embellishes.
590
posted on
12/08/2003 7:18:19 AM PST
by
Conspiracy Guy
(Ignorance can be corrected with knowledge. Stupid is permanent.)
To: Conspiracy Guy
I hear ya! LOL
I try that too, but sometimes a crumpy dwarf shows up!
To: bentfeather
Don't let a drawf ruin your day.
592
posted on
12/08/2003 7:40:56 AM PST
by
Conspiracy Guy
(Ignorance can be corrected with knowledge. Stupid is permanent.)
To: All
To: Conspiracy Guy

Volare~Karaoke! Just for you CG!
Click the doll!
To: bentfeather; snippy_about_it; Flurry; Darksheare; Darkchylde; Trikebuilder; radu; Colonel_Flagg; ...
Good Morning Everybody.

Coffee & Donuts
595
posted on
12/08/2003 9:00:25 AM PST
by
SAMWolf
(We are the people our parents warned us about.)
To: bentfeather; snippy_about_it; Flurry; Darksheare; Darkchylde; Trikebuilder; radu; Colonel_Flagg; ...
The Snow-Storm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come and see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
596
posted on
12/08/2003 9:00:57 AM PST
by
SAMWolf
(We are the people our parents warned us about.)
To: SAMWolf
Morning Sam!
WOW the Donuts sure have a surprise today!
That is so cool!
Thanks much.
To: SAMWolf
Beautiful Adams photo and poem today. :-)
To: bentfeather
A song about a Chrysler Product. Who would have guessed it.
599
posted on
12/08/2003 9:12:56 AM PST
by
Conspiracy Guy
(Ignorance can be corrected with knowledge. Stupid is permanent.)
To: Conspiracy Guy
LOL!!
Never thougth about it that way!!
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