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Posted on 08/06/2007 3:44:50 AM PDT by Soaring Feather
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Back atcha!
I bet, well can’t do anything until the rains stop. I am glad to hear you’re not in the flooding areas.
Auntie Fawnn, are you safe and dry?? I surely pray so.
Exquite floral presentation as per usual Meg!
Now go and find mine . . . LOL
Safe and dry here. Worst of the storms and flooding were about 60 miles northeast of here — and then north of there: Bluffton, Findlay, Arlington, etc.
Bluffton is where they had to close I-75 due to flooding. (FYI: Bluffton is the home of Bluffton College, the college that lost many of their baseball team members in that bus crash in Atlanta.)
Can it be we are winning?? LOL
Tempting her out with a tug on her skirt
makes her ears twitch and go on alert
she wakes from a long summer’s afternoon nap
turns her head and her neck makes a huge snap
dang, aging creeps into her bones
our muse lady lets out a long drawn out moan
I want to retire from this inspiring job
to sleep on cloud’s backs, and look at the moon
to see August turn to the Harvest moon
hot days to go crisp and nights display frost
as the muse folds herself in a long silver wrap!
So good to hear you are safe and sound!!
So sad that crash, I do remember the event now that you have refreshed my memory.
I nearly peed my pants I laughed so hard!
She doesn’t think she did the bird any favors. LOL!
ROTFLMAO, ain’t that a hoot! And she calls the bird stupid to boot.
She was flirting like crazy with that sports guy next to her, too!
Bought it at the farm store for $2.50, for something to look at. I thought it was awfully cute for a chicken.
ROTFLOL! Hilarious! What until Tomkow6 sees this!
The Destroyers
THE strength of twice three thousand horse
That seeks the single goal;
The line that holds the rending course,
The hate that swings the whole:
The stripped hulls, slinking through the gloom,
At gaze and gone again --
The Brides of Death that wait the groom --
The Choosers of the Slain.
Offshore where sea and skyline blend
In rain, the daylight dies;
The sullen, shouldering swells attend
Night and our sacrifice.
Adown the stricken capes no flare--
No mark on spit or bar,- --
Girdled and desperate we dare
The blindfold game of war.
Nearer the up-flung beams that spell
The council of our foes;
Clearer the barking guns that tell
Their scattered flank to close.
Sheer to the trap they crowd their way
From ports for this unbarred.
Quiet, and count our laden prey,
The convoy and her guard!
On shoal with scarce a foot below,
Where rock and islet throng,
Hidden and hushed we watch them throw
Their anxious lights along.
Not here, not here your danger lies
(Stare hard, 0 hooded eyne!)
Save where the dazed rock-pigeons rise
The lit cliffs give no sign.
Therefore - to break the rest ye seek,
The Narrow Seas to clear
Hark to the siren's whimpering shriek
The driven death is here!
Look to your van a league away, -
What midnight terror stays
The bulk that checks against the spray
Her crackling tops ablaze?
Hit, and hard hit! The blow went home,
The muffled, knocking stroke
The steam that overruns the foam-
The foam that thins to smoke-
The smoke that clokes the deep aboil -
The deep that chokes her throes
Till, streaked with ash and sleeked with oil,
The lukewarm whirlpools close!
A shadow down the sickened wave
Long since her slayer fled:
But hear their chattering quick-fires rave
Astern, abeam, ahead!
Panic that shells the drifting spar
- Loud waste with none to check-
Mad fear that rakes a scornful star
Or sweeps a consort's deck.
Now, while their silly smoke hangs thick,
Now ere their wits they find,
Lay in and lance them to the quick--
Our gallied whales are blind!
Good luck to those that see the end,
Good-bye to those that drown--
For each his chance as chance shall send--
And God for all Shut down!
The strength of twice three thousand horse
That serve the one command;
The hand that heaves the headlong force,
The hate that backs the hand:
The doom-bolt in the darkness freed,
The mine that splits the main;
The white-hot wake, the 'wildering speed--
The Choosers of the Slain!
RUDYARD KIPLING 1865-1936
Good night Miss Feather and Fellow Lairites . . . see you tomorrow.
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