Kate Rusby.....

Lay me down gently, lay me down low,


I fear I am broken and won't mend, I know.


One thing I ask when the stars light the skies,


Who now will sing me lullabies,


Oh who now will sing me lullabies.






In this big world I'm lonely, for I am but small,


Oh angels in heaven, don't you care for me at all?


You heard my heart breaking for it rang through the skies,


So why don't you sing me lullabies,


Oh why don't you sing me lullabies.






I lay here; I'm weeping for the stars they have come,


I lay here not sleeping; now the long night has begun.


The man in the moon, oh he can't help but cry,


For there's no one to sing me lullabies,


Oh there's no one to sing me lullabies.






So lay me down gently, oh lay me down low,


I fear I am broken and won't mend, I know .


One thing I ask when the stars light the skies,


Who now will sing me lullabies,


Oh who now will sing me lullabies.






Who will sing me to sleep


Who will sing me to sleep


Who will sing me to sleep


Who will sing me to sleep

She Sat and Sang.......

SHE SAT AND SANG







by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)






HE sat and sang alway


By the green margin of a stream,


Watching the fishes leap and play


Beneath the glad sunbeam.






I sat and wept alway


Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam,


Watching the blossoms of the May


Weep leaves into the stream.






I wept for memory;


She sang for hope that is so fair:


My tears were swallowed by the sea;


Her songs died in the air.

If by Rudyard Kipling

(My first post! For a while I couldn't get on here. ??)
This is my favorite poem of all time :)

If—

by Rudyard Kipling

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!

Awesome

The Bridge Builder



This poem speaks of each generation's responsibilities to its successors.




An old man, going a lone highway,


Came, at the evening, cold and gray,


To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,


Through which was flowing a sullen tide.


The old man crossed in the twilight dim;


The sullen stream had no fears for him;


But he turned, when safe on the other side,


And built a bridge to span the tide.


"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim, near,


"You are wasting strength with building here;


Your journey will end with the ending day;


You never again must pass this way;


You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide-


Why build you the bridge at the eventide?"


The builder lifted his old gray head:


"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,


"There followeth after me today


A youth, whose feet must pass this way.


This chasm, that has been naught to me,


To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.


He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;


Good friend, I am building the bridge for him."


Will Allen Dromgoole

Remember

A mirror on the wall,
a hole in the floor and some boards about to fall.
But this ramshackled building holds more then broken relics,
rotting floors,
theres something more then musty smells and the old grandfather clock in the corner that hasn't been working for years,
an old leather chair sits by the hearth and upon the mantlepiece sits a picture,
its frame cleverly carved by sensitive hands,
its all covered in dust and hasn't been touched for ages.
Beside that picture stands a wooden figure carved so long ago,
and as I take it in my hands and blow the dust that has gathered for so many year.
I still remember.