What is your favourite poem?

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 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.

 "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." - Eleonor Roosevelt

So we'll go no more a-roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

And Love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,

And the day returns too soon,

Yet we'll go no more a-roving

By the light of the moon.

"Deaths in the Bible. God - 2,270,365

not including the victims of Noah's flood, Sodom and Gomorrah, or the

many plagues, famines, fiery serpents, etc because no specific numbers

were given. Satan - 10."

Closely followed by Rudyard Kipling -

IF.....

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!

------------------------------------------------------------ "Every adult of sound mind, should be able to choose to do whatever they want, as long as they cause no harm to others".

But, the reality of this digital world of the Internet, sometimes, most

of the time and always remember, that Keyboards are 'dirtier than a

toilet'.

I will miss your inputs.

If your confession is a guilty verdict, just push the door in the way out, You will be ejected all the way to hell. If you are innocent of your confession, then a white carpet for your path will be roll out and you will be levitated to heaven exclusively.

Red_Pope of QL

THERE'S a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There's a little marble cross below the town; There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu, He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell; But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks, And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong, The fact that she loved him was plain to all. She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun To celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew; They met next day as he dismissed a squad; And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do But the green eye of the little Yellow God.

On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance, And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars; But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile, Then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn, And a gash across his temple dripping red; He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day, And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through; She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod; He bade her search the pocket saying, "That's from Mad Carew," And she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do, Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet; But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night, She thought of him and hastened to his room; As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.

His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through; The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod; An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew, 'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu There's a little marble cross below the town; There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

My all time favorite is "twinkle twinkle little star"

it reminds me my childhood days......

"I dont Drive fast, I just fly slow..."

I love Maya Angelou's poems, my favorite is 'Still I Rise'

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

1 Corintians 13