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Daily Archives: June 9, 2015

2003 UB 313

The rings of friendship -Promote Yourself


The rings of friendship ‘ its not on your hand ✋ ‘ its your circle of friends ‘ you have around.

With gentle people ‘ with every one you see ‘ laughter and happiness ‘ so completely.

Listening to music 🎶 or reading a book 📚 ‘ you talk about everything ‘ even your looks.

The rings of friendship ‘ can not be found ‘ its not in the air’ or on the ground ‘ its all around you ‘ that you can see ‘ it’s all your friends ‘ who came and see’ you and me.

Friends are for life ‘ that we are ‘ it’s a treasure indeed ‘ no matter how far.

Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014

Broken-heart – Promote Yourself

    1. colr
      Samuel Taylor Coleridge
      Samuel Taylor Coleridge was an English poet, literary critic and philosopher who, with his friend William Wordsworth, was a founder of the Romantic Movement in England and a member of the Lake Poets.Wikipedia
      Born: October 21, 1772, Ottery St Mary
      Died: July 25, 1834, Highgate
      Spouse: Sarah Fricker (m. 1795–1808)

” And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. “
_Samuel Coleridge

_ T’was by a lovely morning
_ When the summertime came
_ and just before that school closed
_ Going my way, nice and easy, in deed
_ suddenly, I felt I had to write this piece of poetry
_ that’s when sometimes you got the blues
_ and you had the heart away.
_ At the fork of two roads, as often
_ I choose that day the one not taken,
_I stopped by, at the school of cutting classes,
  where you play hid, and seek, by the bushes
_where you learnt the tools of the trades, arts and crafts,
_ those small things of life, state-of-art, of everything
_ things that people envy you for, gossip and jibe,
_ but silently wish to do, and dare never did.
_ Sweet sixteen, smoking cigs, makes you feel not at ease,
  just because to show off, among friend and but to please.

_ What had left, at last, of things that had to pass,
  but then when there is no more of such sweet things,
_of see you later, I love you and for forever, alas
_  who fancy, to tell me how? It’s all fake
_ you, who knows, where and how to take
_”and I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
  Not honey to make, nor pair, no build or sing”
_ It was all about love, and understanding.
_ Bitterly, this is it, C’est la vie, I learnt
_ By the road not always people took, I went
  to see, railroads men, and departing train.
_pain in my heart, as it might rain
_ I will tell you such, and such were the joy             
_tears, laughters, wounded limbs of a lit’le boy

_If you please, take pain to listen to me
_ it’s a nonsense, you may say                           
_then you burst in laughters,
_ and that,  also I know, and dare say
_Oh, my heart, you still remember, do you?
_  When Marie went to draw water from the well
_She was so pretty and jolly.
Then, Fatima, the brunette, of Holy molly,
when I took her hand
it was so smooth ever than a step stone, where we sat
at  the threshold of a fountain
_tear off petals of daisy flowers, and hours
_we thought then night and day, and the world were ours                 
To please them both, I learnt poetry, De Musset,
Baudelaire, et Rimbaud, Aragon, Hugo and  La Fontaine.

Love me, love me not play
Proust,  the  Swan way.
à L’ombre des Jeunes Filles en Fleurs.
Cutting classes, Fridays afternoon
And Sweet Tuesdays with moon
For the love of a girl’s mile
you can do anything, like walking handred and a mile

Many years, later on, I can’t help
But still remember now and then
Those were the days, my friend
That seemed never end
Please tell me where are they
When, eat, love and play
Was a day of no worried


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