marle feed

Do I love keeping the Christmas Spirit going in January The Cheerfulness The Joy The Kind and Warm Wind of Giving Oh Yes Let's Look at the Sky This Early January Evening Let's make the Stars Reminds us It is King's Day A time for giving and sharing Joy and Kindness So in preparing this wonderful day I walked through Our Kingdom Our Home, Garden and Castle I found wonderful gifts I wrapped them in fabric All this for All Our Children From 1 to 92 Yes Merry King's Day to You I opened the pantry  I found Flour, Butter and More Mixed them all up together I hid a Charm for The Youngest one to Find I made a King's Cake for All Sweet Children From 1 to 92 Merry King's Day to You I made a Paper Crown  It is for the Lucky Charm Finder They will be King of the Day Giving Gifts to All Children From 1 to 92 Merry King's Day to You

 What I said is A poem is like an incantation. It is a series of spells and charms that can transform people's lives For the person to be completely taken by the words spoken The presentation, ritual, dance with the spirit has to be magic Dress in your best attire Arrange the place so that is vibrant and clean Ensure that your manuscript is tidy, and even better type it up and have a few copies so that your audience impressed by your words would try at home to be you You once again and sing your name

Aide-moi Délivre-moi du fardeau que sont les papiers, les outils, les fils conducteurs, les puzzles sans fin Non, dis-tu? Non, repetes-tu? Ton attention n'est plus. Ton amour, toujours, reste Grandis, ma grande Transforme le butin de ta peine en marche pour aller plus haut Je te regarderais d'en bas sur ma bande glissante qui m'emmene ailleurs Je ne peux plus te suivre Je suis sur mon propre chemin, un chemin vers l'au dela Ainsi sois-t-il Je pose le tout ici Je construis une, deux, trois marches Inspiré, une, deux, trois personnes me rejoignent Nous voici au sommet Je te regarde d'en haut et Souris J'ai rejoins le royaume des cieux aussi Merci

  The Listeners BY  WALTER DE LA MARE ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,       Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses       Of the forest’s ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret,       Above the Traveller’s head: And he smote upon the door again a second time;       ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said. But no one descended to the Traveller;       No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,       Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners       That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight       To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,...

On the surface, some things always looked the same. The birds sing their heart out awaiting for the worms to come through the earth, just as they always did. The old men still sit at the pub with their coats on sucking on ales. The road are flat and tidy, there are the buggies and their owners, the old ladies with their bags, the impatient children waiting for the bus.