Classic poem of the day
Weary was I of toil and strife,
— And weary of drawing breath;
And still, whatever I did for Life
— It went the way to death.
It went adown the dusty road,
— Whence there is no recall;
None may bear another's load,
— For the load is borne by all.
" Some of the souls escape and fly,
— Tho' the grave to us be dumb,
They do not know what it is to die,
— For they make the world-to-come.
"......
Member poem of the day
Within the shadowed forest deep,
She watches where the flowers crawl.
The trees that dance and flail and weep
Entrance her, make her feel so small.
She watches where the flowers crawl
Abundantly; the bursting scents
Entrance her, make her feel so small,
The life the least here represents.
Abundantly, the bursting scents
Surround the dust she still can taste.
The life the least here represents
Confirms she's blessed. She......
