Classic poem of the day
Thou to me art such a spring,
As the Arab seeks at eve,
Thirsty from the shining sands;
There to bathe his face and hands,
While the sun is taking leave,
And dewy sleep is a delicious thing.
Thou to me art such a dream,
As he dreams upon the grass,
While the bubbling coolness near,
Makes sweet music in his ear;
And the stars that slowly pass,
In solitary grandeur o'er him gleam.
Thou to me......
Member poem of the day
In the frosted dark of Market Square,
hours before Supermac’s opens,
the camel-backed Magi spark to life.
Stealthy council workers drape streets
with pearls of light, flashing Santas, sleighs;
star of Bethlehem crowning a twelve foot tree.
Beneath the Chemist’s neon crucifix
a hooded commuter sways,
cradling a polystyrene cup.
Gazing at the electronic display,
he offers up a silent prayer
that ‘Delayed&...