I'd like to say that my favourite poem is by my sister who IS a poet but I don't understand most of hers so I can't claim that so I'll go with the one that I learned and loved as a child:
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, What a beautiful Pussy you are."
Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl, How charmingly sweet you sing. O let us be married, too long we have tarried; But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-tree grows, And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose, With a ring at the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will" So they took it away, and were married next day By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon. And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand. They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon, They danced by the light of the moon.
Joanna from Dundas, Ontario BLC20-26 - Amber Amazon Warriors BLC27 - Navy Ninjas Eastern Daylight Time (EDT)
Co-Leader of Living With Rheumatoid Autoimmune Disease (RAD)
IF you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, ' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
I could no more pick a favorite poem than I could pick a favorite star in the sky. I find comfort in works by many artists including many very talented song writers. It really all depends on what kind of mood I'm in and what I need to lift myself up. Edger Allen Poe, Beowolf, Homer, Shakespear, and all my favorite song artists help me whenever I need it the most.
I'm not really that much into poetry but I love quotes...
"It is never too late to be what you might have become." - George Elliott
Don't let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it. The time will pass anyway; we might just as well put that passing time to the best possible use. ~Earl Nightingale
my favorite poem is one that I discovered in the 5th grade and it's been my favorite for all these years. It's by Lew Sarrett,
Wind in the Pine By Lew Sarett
Oh, I can hear you, God, above the cry Of the tossing trees— Rolling your windy tides across the sky And splashing your silver seas Over the pine, To the water line Of the moon.
Oh, I can hear you, God, Above the wail of the lonely loon— When the pine tips pitch and nod— Chanting your melodies Of ghostly waterfalls and avalanches, Swashing your wind among the branches To make them pure and white.
Wash over me, God, with your piney breeze And your moon’s wet silver pool; Wash over me, God, with your Wind and night And leave me clean and cool.
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