the silver birch is a shady lady
is this a poem? Comes up with some interesting porn sites?
(How to get people eager to help searching, eh?)
Child's song in spring
by Edith Nesbit
The silver birch is a dainty lady,
She wears a satin gown;
The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
She will not live in town.
The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
He gets his green coat late;
The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
While brown the beech trees wait.
Such a gay green gown God gives the larches -
As green as He is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches,
When Spring rides through the wood.
The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,
The poplar's gentle and tall,
But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city -
I love him best of all!
Desi, that's birch...not bitch.
Sounds like you girls have more fun at this than I ever had.
Post Edited (11-24-04 22:40)
grin I think it was the shady lady that did it.
Yeah, googling can be fun.
Well done Ilza!
by Ms. E. Nesbit
THE THINGS THAT MATTER.
NOW that I've nearly done my days,
And grown too stiff to sweep or sew,
I sit and think, till I'm amaze,
About what lots of things I know:
Things as I've found out one by one--
And when I'm fast down in the clay,
My knowing things and how they're done
Will all be lost and thrown away.
There's things, I know, as won't be lost,
Things as folks write and talk about:
The way to keep your roots from frost,
And how to get your ink spots out.
What medicine's good for sores and sprains,
What way to salt your butter down,
What charms will cure your different pains,
And what will bright your faded gown.
But more important things than these,
They can't be written in a book:
How fast to boil your greens and peas,
And how good bacon ought to look;
I HAVEN'T always acted good:
I've taken things not meant for me;
Not other people's drink and food,
But things they never seemed to see.
I haven't done the way I ought
If all they say in church is true,
But all I've had I've fairly bought,
And paid for pretty heavy too.
For days and weeks are very long
If you get nothing new and bright,
And if you never do no wrong
Somehow you never do no right.
The chap that daresent go a yard
For fear the path should lead astray
May be a saint--though that seems hard,
But he's no traveller, any way.
Some things I can't be sorry for,
The things that silly people hate:
But some I did I do deplore,
I knew, inside, they wasn't straight.