Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy
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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 imposters 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!
Tough hurting words had been spoken.
A golden bond had been broken.
The currency of our love....now token.
Wooden, leaden, it's ring spent.
Deflated, devalued, worthless, rent.
Perhaps it was an excess of desire,
Needing to burn brightly and then expire.
All grey and ashen our extinct fire.
That could, or would not last,
Became the past so rapidly.
Love once a comet, now gone...vapidly.
I left my good book back at the country house
Where it was discovered by a nest-making mouse.
Who shredded its pages into a nest of a kind.
Now a book has many uses , but it's a surprise to find
In the confines of a book a family living.
But why not, books are so unconditionally giving.
By Dan Morrill
My beloved knew that she was about to die.
She sought to surprise us, didn't want us to cry.
Original to the end, but she's now past tense.
She went out with a bang, in a burst of flatulence.
I shall never know her carminative source.
But she certainly went out with explosive force.
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, she became all gas.
Didn't like being buried, so she vaporized her mass.
As the sun might burst forth after a drenching rain
Her last words were "No longer me, I'm all methane."
She then caught fire and made a bright blue flame
and so, rising higher and higher she went,
giving new meaning to the saying "Heaven-sent."
She's now returned from whence she'd come
To where she and her source could again be one.
