December 0

Blog Archive

Fri, 13.01.2012

Heredity by Effie Smith

Our dead forefathers, mighty though they be,
For all their power still leave our spirits free;
Though on our paths their shadows far are thrown,
The life that each man liveth is his own.

Time stands like some schoolmaster old and stern,
And calls each human being in his turn
To write his task upon life’s blackboard space;
Death’s fingers then the finished work erase,
And the next pupil’s letters take its place.

That he who wrote before thee labored well
Concerns thee not: thy work for thee must tell;
‘Tis naught to thee if others’ tasks were ill:

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

God morning heartache, you old gloomy sight. Good morning heartache, tho't we said goodbye last night. I tossed and turned until it seemed you had gone, but here you... GOOD MORNING HEARTACHE by Irene Higginbotham.
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