Classic poem of the day
Vengeance was once her nation's lore and law:
When the tired sentry stooped above the rill,
Her long knife flashed, and hissed, and drank its fill;
Dimly below her dripping wrist she saw,
One wild hand, pale as death and weak as straw,
Clutch at the ripple in the pool; while shrill
Sprang through the dreaming hamlet on the hill,
The war-cry of the triumphant Iroquois.
Now clothed with many an ancient flap and fold,
And wrinkled like an apple kep......
Member poem of the day
Little spiders on the floor,
Who knows what they're waiting for?
They'll creep around without a sound,
Looking for a place to stay.
First they rested in the sink.
But soon they cried, "That's far too wet!"
The spiders didn't like the sink.
So now they had to try and think.
And then one said "Why not the shed?"
The spiders rested in the shed.
But soon they cried "It's far too old!"
The spid...
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