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Posted on 06/25/2005 9:22:33 PM PDT by Soaring Feather
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Good Morning!
Off to play on the steamboat for the day, you all have fun too.
And Ms. 'feather,
you soak up some sun
and have some fun
and play this day away
And think of poor old me
slaving away you see
just a working this hot old day
;^)
Trike
Oh boy, you're going to the Steamboat!! WOO HOO.
We are having a cool down in weather today, so far, no sun.
Have a wonderful day doing what you love to do.
I went to the ferryman and I asked
has the fare been paid
has the die been cast
He looked at me from under his hood
with hollow eyes that would if they could
swallow me up in the vacant abyss
he extended his bony hand and
uttered a hiss
Little Missy me, he hissed my name
your fare was paid, you played the game
your hollow empty shell is bare
your lovely golden flaxen hair is
turned to silver age is the game
your wages you gambled and lost all the same
Your ride on the ferry a rough one to be
not sheltered from winds or rains will you be
left wanting your lost lover is the pay
riding the ferry from dusk to dawn
never to rest you head from the musk,
or mist, Little Missy rides alone all the same.
The Charon has been waiting round the bend
watching for him to come again
to call out your name from the banks of the Styx
but he knows in his heart you are the hex.
He knows you wept by the glen in dusk
and sent your sweet kisses into the mist
he held his hand high to fend off their aim
he never loved you... it was his fair game.
bentfeather
a/k/a LMH
Copyright (c) 07.02.05
All Rights Reserved.
Good 4th of July Weekend, ms feather.
self-ping for bookmark. Miss Feather, you do a wonderful job.
Good afternoon, Kathy. Thank You, for the lovely hymn. It's one of my favourites.
Thank You, Colonel.
Stroll into Contentment
I walk in the gathering dark,
and think my thoughts all alone,
to the cadence of my steps around the park.
I watch moths flutter around the lights,
and hear the call of night birds near,
the fluttering kiss of wind sings in the night.
I’m not alone however, even here,
a presence beside me strides in step,
and I know I walk with a true friend, beyond fear.
Tree leaves sigh soft and sweet,
cascades of eve song to which I listen,
as alive and attentive as to any opera’s treat.
Stars are the softest of streetlights,
a million points of light that lead me on,
amid the gentle night to my accepting sight.
Sitting on a bench here in the park,
I let night, become part of me, to fill me,
and I breathe that air, my Lord I do now hark.
Into the night I stroll alone
no stars to soften the dark
I listen for the whisperings
behind darkened shrubs
I shiver on the bench
in fear that all the nights are bleak
and sheep are led by kindness
of the wolf behind the mask
and darkness takes its toll upon
the aging lonely lass.
"the aging lonely lass."
Women, those of class,
of intellect,
mature as does a fine wine.
Sweeter with time,
with depths to explore,
drawn as burnished silver so fine.
These women,
treasures as dear as gold are they,
don't age as common clay, but are refined.
Fear not,
you are like the rare platinum,
growing more precious with love intertwined.
Nice response!
Maybe if I had some class
I would not sound like
tinkling brass or frozen
dew upon cold glass.
:-)
See ya tomorrow...thanks for all.
| You Know The Drill Click the pics 
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Coffee & Donuts
Good morning, Sam.
"Fiddlers' Green"
Such a graphic and powerful composition.
Thank You for posting both the graphic and poem.
Good coffee, donuts and tunes, too.
Love the song "Mr. Lucky" by Henry Mancini. I remember it so well. Really a great arrangement.
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