Classic poem of the day
Time passed, but still no letter came; she ceased,
Almost, to hope, but never to expect.
The June moon came which had beheld love's feast,
Then waned, like it; the meadow-grass was flecked
With moon-daisies, which died; little she recked
Of change in outward things, she did not change;
Her heart still knew one star, one hope, it did not range,
Like to the watery hearts of tidal men,
Swayed by all moons of beauty; she was firm,
When most convince......
Member poem of the day
Lin, a Chinese friend giggled,
at my rather laboured, say, feeble,
quest for apt description,
pedestrian attempt at Cantonese,
the Chinese word for butterfly,
or dragon even hue rich moth,
just vanished down the throat,
of one so eager yet befuddled,
turning graceful egg shell noodles,
under blazing spit fire lanterns,
our laughter rose and fell,
amid the sotto voce banter,
now abundantly in full speed train.
Me, the ever ...
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