How much choice do we have to shape each day to our desire, and how much is simply predestined?
How far can we resist the external forces that press down on us, whether natural, social, or spiritual?
In the book of life, are we the writers or the written on, the paper or the pen?
Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned…
Lzzie cried, “Aw heck... not even a (sigh) for the galwhogaveitago. Gutted”
‘Tis right you scold me for my regrettable oversight; it would be an erroneous lapse to call such an omission a faux pas.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
In mitigation:
PHYSICS.... I TOOK A'LEVEL.... I got a D
.... my physics teacher was like a goat and he sweated a lot and eeeeeeeeeeeeuwwww "
even thinking about phsyics....
ya hear...
I can't abide physics…
and also..... "what happens to the scale".... well if you were making a cuppa with the water in London then the "scale" makes yer kettle all furry!
Stormy, “I agree with you Izzie.”
Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays
And one by one back in the Closet lays…
A Boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear-
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autmun frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise.
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in a golden gleam -
Life, what is it but a dream?
[The initial letters of this poem when read downward give the full name of the original Alice (in Wonderland) - Alice Pleasance Liddell]
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
I've often been accused of being impractical and out of touch with the times. There was a time when I would be ready to argue the point but these days, I just smile and let it go. Why; I'd rather be
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in a golden gleam
After all
Life, what is it but a dream?
And all is not what it may seem…
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant Try,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound...
The boy-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea.
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part;
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was the credit to one so fair...
Memo to Mark...Stop copying Lzzie.
I'm impressed sweety - could not even make an educated guess...except what Rock said - nothin'
