Classic poem of the day
What is all this washing about,
Every day, week in, week out?
From getting up till going to bed,
I'm tired of hearing the same thing said.
Whether I'm dirty or whether I'm not.
Whether the water is cold or hot,
Whether I like or whether I don't,
Whether I will or whether I won't,
" Have you washed your hands, and washed your face? "
I seem to live in the washing-place.
Whenever I go for a walk or ride,
As soon as I put my nose i......
Member poem of the day
The bells knell in cold silvered light rain, white marble of the names, gray ribbons of morning mist wending within the acres of our uniformed dead. Black umbrellas, soldiers, veterans dying by their own hand. Bereavement bleeding through the survivors' thoughts - agony of the soldiers' minds that kept trying to find their resting place, stand watch. ~ Stop Soldier Suicide (844)-235-2764
