Thread in the hands of a loving mother
Turns to clothes on the traveling son.
She adds stitch after tight stitch until he leaves
and worries about his return.
A grass blade is bathed in spring sun;
how can its inch-sized heart return such love?
O villain, you can kill me
but cannot defeat me anyway.
I wanted your soft verges
But you gave me the hard shoulder..
Some days I feel a sadness not of grief
The shadows lengthen on the earth's relief
Salinas flows by like a silver shawl
A girl waves from the mission wall.
Sommerfugle jeg elsker at fange et eneste Misgreb
Og det flygtige Støvs glimrende Farver forgaaer.
Slanger jeg elsker at gribe, tæmme, og vikle om Armen
Et uændset Minut — Giften og Døden er viss.
Elskovs Hemmeligheder, de sødeste, elsker jeg gjemme
Blot et Ord, blot et Blik, saa er det Hele forspildt.
Phantasus den ungdomsglade,
Kaldte, en Skjærsommernat,
Aanderne til Maskerade,
Og som Kredsen bedst var sat,
Kom just Du til Skovens Hang
Og som Digter dem besang.
681
Soil of Flint, if steady tilled—
Will refund by Hand—
Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun
Fructified in Sand—
Soldiers who wish to be a hero
Are practically zero.
But those who wish to be civilians,
Jesus, they run into millions.
At the gates of heaven
he did not know the names
beyond the bombing bay.
But many miles away
he could still see the flames
judging the dead in Dresden.
sometimes a human mammal is not to be seen
some love these moments, even create them
however others act like pumpkins
