Classic poem of the day
In myriad manners are thy praises told:
The suns the circles of their course complete,
And ever hear some tongue thy name repeat;
The stars, that follow where those orbs have rolled,
Know all the lands and climes thy clients hold;
The spring's first daisies blossom at thy feet;
For thee the summer winds are bland and sweet,
And thine its beauty as the year grows old:
And yet perchance, of all the forms and ways
Wherein thy childre......
Member poem of the day
An old brown dog naps on a chair in the sun.
His big brown eyes closed,
His chin, resting on his paw.
The little black dog appears from another room.
And old brown dog's eyes blink open, then slowly close again.
His breathing slows as the rhythm of a slight snoring starts.
He licks his lips as he gets ready to slip back into a deep, wonderful slumber.
Is he back in the kennel where he was introduced to this world?
Eyes closed ther...
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