TASTING THE RAINDROPS - by Anonymous-17

 

TASTING  THE  RAINDROPS by Anonymous-17  Looking in your eyes I feel myself falling in love with you You said I love you And I said it too We went to our very own special spot For no real reason at all We sat and talked and looked at one another And then the rain began to fall We could have left just as quick as we came But no, you wanted to stay in the rain You asked me a question I'll never forget Have you ever tasted the raindrops? I looked at you funny and you gave me a sigh The cutest look, as I wondered, why? Why, did you ask me to taste the rain? Well, what did have to loose or gain? I watched you with a careful eye And did the same as you You were looking up at the cloudy sky But my eyes were stuck on you like glue I lifted my head to look at the sky And closed my eyes really tight Just as I thought I'd caught a raindrop You suddenly held me tight I opened my eyes with slight alarm As you kissed me soft and sweet I remember that kiss like it was yesterday I still feel those raindrops on my cheek I tasted the raindrops like I never had before It was worth every second of bliss Every time I think of that moment I think of my raindrop kiss We sat close together on that one special rock And we held each other tight Then almost as suddenly as it came The sun came out from beneath the rain The most beautiful colors I've ever seen Came out on the western sky The sun was setting and the moment was perfect More than any money could buy As the sun slowly set and the sky lit up You began carving our names in our special rock I told you I would never forget this moment In my heart this memory is locked As our names were finished and permanently engraved We watched the sun finish its day We slowly got up to leave this place Which was a year ago this May I haven't been to that spot in a year Where did all the time go? I will visit this place alone this time And I will finally have to let go This memory will be in my heart forever But you will not remain in my mind I don't know if that love, will be seen again For that love I cannot find I will go to this spot as we promised we would But you will not be there this time Why is it that you can't keep your promise? I know that I'm keeping mine Never again will I taste the raindrops The way I did with you And when I go to this spot again I will say goodbye to you.

 

 

THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE - by Tagore

 

I

Once upon a time the Babus at Nayanjore were famous landholders. They were noted for their princely extravagance. They would tear off the rough border of their Dacca muslin, because it rubbed against their delicate skin. They could spend many thousands of rupees over the wedding of a kitten. And on a certain grand occasion it is alleged that in order to turn night into day they lighted numberless lamps and showered silver threads from the sky to imitate sunlight.

Those were the days before the flood. The flood came. The line of succession among these old world Babus, with their lordly habits, could not continue for long. Like a lamp with too many wicks burning, the oil flared away quickly, and the light went out.

Kailas Babu, our neighbour, is the last relic of this extinct magnificence. Before he grew up, his family had very nearly reached its lowest ebb. When his father died, there was one dazzling outburst of funeral extravagance, and then insolvency. The property was sold to liquidate the debt. What little ready money was left over was altogether insufficient to keep up the past ancestral splendours.

Kailas Babu left Nayanjore and came to Calcutta. His son did not remain long in this world of faded glory. He died, leaving behind him an only daughter.

In Calcutta we are Kailas Babu's neighbours. Curiously enough our own family history is just the opposite of his. My father got his money by his own exertions, and prided himself on never spending a penny more than was needed. His clothes were those of a working man, and his hands also. He never had any inclination to earn the title of Babu by extravagant display; and I myself, his only son, owe him gratitude for that. He gave me the very best education, and I was able to make my way in the world. I am not ashamed of the fact that I am a self-made man. Crisp banknotes in my safe are dearer to me than a long pedigree in an empty family chest.

I believe this was why I disliked seeing Kailas Babu drawing his heavy cheques on the public credit from the bankrupt bank of his ancient Babu reputation. I used to fancy that he looked down on me, because my father had earned money with his own hands.

I ought to have noticed that no one showed any vexation towards Kailas Babu except myself. Indeed it would have been difficult to find an old man who did less harm than he. He was always ready with his kindly little acts of courtesy in times of sorrow and joy. He would join in all the ceremonies and religious observances of his neighbours. His familiar smile would greet young and old alike. His politeness in asking details about domestic affairs was untiring. The friends who met him in the street were perforce ready to be button-holed, while a long string of questions of this kind followed one another from his lips:

"My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Are you quite well ? How is Shashi ? And Dada is he all right ? Do you know, I've only just heard that Madhu's son has got fever. How is he ? Have you heard ? And Hari Charan Babu - I have not seen him for a long time - I hope he is not ill. What's the matter with Rakkhal ? And er - er, how are the ladies of your family ?"

Kailas Babu was spotlessly neat in his dress on all occasions, though his supply of clothes was sorely limited. Every day he used to air his shirts and vests and coats and trousers carefully, and put them out in the sun, along with his bed-quilt, his pillowcase, and the small carpet on which he always sat. After airing them he would shake them, and brush them, and put them carefully away. His little bits of furniture made his small room decent, and hinted that there was more in reserve if needed. Very often, for want of a servant, he would shut up his house for a while. Then he would iron out his shirts and linen with his own hands, and do other little menial tasks. After this he would open his door and receive his friends again.

Though Kailas Babu, as I have said, had lost all his landed property, he had still some family heirlooms left. There was a silver cruet for sprinkling scented water, a filigree box for otto-of-roses, a small gold salver, a costly ancient shawl, and the old-fashioned ceremonial dress and ancestral turban. These he had rescued with the greatest difficulty from the money-lenders' clutches. On every suitable occasion he would bring them out in state, and thus try to save the world famed dignity of the Babus of Nayanjore. At heart the most modest of men, in his daily speech he regarded it as a sacred duty, owed to his rank, to give free play to his family pride. His friends would encourage this trait in his character with kindly good humour, and it gave them great amusement.

The neighbourhood soon learnt to call him their Thakur Dada. They would flock to his house and sit with him for hours together. To prevent his incurring any expense, one or other of his friends would bring him tobacco and say: "Thakur Dada, this morning some tobacco was sent to me from Gaya. Do take it and see how you like it."

Thakur Dada would take it and say it was excellent. He would then go on to tell of a certain exquisite tobacco which they once smoked in the old days of Nayanjore at the cost of a guinea an ounce.

"I wonder," he used to say, "if any one would like to try it now. I have some left, and can get it at once."

Every one knew that, if they asked for it, then somehow or other the key of the cupboard would be missing; or else Ganesh, his old family servant, had put it away somewhere.

"You never can be sure," he would add, "where things go to when servants are about. Now, this Ganesh of mine, I can't tell you what a fool he is, but I haven't the heart to dismiss him."

Ganesh, for the credit of the family, was quite ready to bear all the blame without a word.

One of the company usually said at this point: "Never mind, Thakur Dada. Please don't trouble to look for it. This tobacco we're smoking will do quite well. The other would be too strong."

Then Thakur Dada would be relieved and settle down again, and the talk would go on.

When his guests got up to go away, Thakur Dada would accompany them to the door and say to them on the door-step: "Oh, by the way, when are you all coming to dine with me ?"

One or other of us would answer: "Not just yet, Thakur Dada, not just yet. We'll fix a day later."

"Quite right," he would answer. "Quite right. We had much better wait till the rains come. It's too hot now. And a grand rich dinner such as I should want to give you would upset us in weather like this."

But when the rains did come, every one was very careful not to remind him of his promise. If the subject was brought up, some friend would suggest gently that it was very inconvenient to get about when the rains were so severe, and therefore it would be much better to wait till they were over. Thus the game went on.

Thakur Dada's poor lodging was much too small for his position, and we used to condole with him about it. His friends would assure him they quite understood his difficulties: it was next to impossible to get a decent house in Calcutta. Indeed, they had all been looking out for years for a house to suit him. But, I need hardly add, no friend had been foolish enough to find one. Thakur Dada used to say, with a sigh of resignation: "Well, well, I suppose I shall have to put up with this house after all." Then he would add with a genial smile: "But, you know, I could never bear to be away from my friends. I must be near you. That really compensates for everything."


Somehow I felt all this very deeply indeed. I suppose the real reason was, that when a man is young, stupidity appears to him the worst of crimes. Kailas Babu was not really stupid. In ordinary business matters every one was ready to consult him. But with regard to Nayanjore his utterances were certainly void of common sense. Because, out of amused affection for him, no one contradicted his impossible statements, he refused to keep them in bounds. When people recounted in his hearing the glorious history of Nayanjore with absurd exaggerations, he would accept all they said with the utmost gravity, and never doubted, even in his dreams, that any one could disbelieve it.

II

When I sit down and try to analyse the thoughts and feelings that I had towards Kailas Babu, I see that there was a still deeper reason for my dislike. I will now explain.

Though I am the son of a rich man, and might have wasted time at college, my industry was such that I took my M.A. degree in Calcutta University when quite young. My moral character was flawless. In addition, my outward appearance was so handsome, that if I were to call myself beautiful, it might be thought a mark of self estimation, but could not be considered an untruth.

There could be no question that among the young men of Bengal I was regarded by parents generally as a very eligible match. I was myself quite clear on the point and had determined to obtain my full value in the marriage market. When I pictured my choice, I had before my mind's eye a wealthy father's only daughter, extremely beautiful and highly educated. Proposals came pouring in to me from far and near; large sums in cash were offered. I weighed these offers with rigid impartiality in the delicate scales of my own estimation. But there was no one fit to be my partner. I became convinced, with the poet Bhabavuti, that,

In this world's endless time and boundless space
One may be born at last to match my sovereign grace.

But in this puny modern age, and this contracted space of modern Bengal, it was doubtful if the peerless creature existed as yet.

Meanwhile my praises were sung in many tunes, and in different metres, by designing parents.

Whether I was pleased with their daughters or not, this worship which they offered was never unpleasing. I used to regard it as my proper due, because I was so good. We are told that when the gods withhold their boons from mortals they still expect their worshippers to pay them fervent honour and are angry if it is withheld. I had that divine expectance strongly developed in myself.

I have already mentioned that Thakur Dada had an only grand-daughter. I had seen her many times, but had never mistaken her for beautiful. No thought had ever entered my mind that she would be a possible partner for myself. All the same, it seemed quite certain to me that some day or other Kailas Babu would offer her, with all due worship, as an oblation at my shrine. Indeed - this was the inner secret of my dislike - I was thoroughly annoyed that he had not done so already.

I heard that Thakur Dada had told his friends that the Babus of Nayanjore never craved a boon. Even if the girl remained unmarried, he would not break the family tradition. It was this arrogance of his that made me angry. My indignation smouldered for some time. But I remained perfectly silent and bore it with the utmost patience, because I was so good.

As lightning accompanies thunder, so in my character a flash of humour was mingled with the mutterings of my wrath. It was, of course, impossible for me to punish the old man merely to give vent to my rage; and for a long time I did nothing at all. But suddenly one day such an amusing plan came into my head, that I could not resist the temptation of carrying it into effect.

I have already said that many of Kailas Babu's friends used to flatter the old man's vanity to the full. One, who was a retired Government servant, had told him that whenever he saw the Chota Lât Sahib he always asked for the latest news about the Babus of Nayanjore, and the Chota Lât had been heard to say that in all Bengal the only really respectable families were those of the Maharaja of Cossipore and the Babus of Nayanjore. When this monstrous falsehood was told to Kailas Babu he was extremely gratified and often repeated the story. And wherever after that he met this Government servant in company he would ask, along with other questions:

"Oh ! er - by the way, how is the Chota Lât Sahib ? Quite well, did you say ? Ah, yes, I am so delighted to hear it ! And the dear Mem Sahib, is she quite well too ? Ah, yes ! and the little children are they quite well also ? Ah, yes ! that's very good news ! Be sure and give them my compliments when you see them."

Kailas Babu would constantly express his intention of going some day and paying a visit to the Lord Sahib. But it may be taken for granted that many Chota Lâts and Burra Lâts also would come and go, and much water would pass down the Hoogly, before the family coach of Nayanjore would be furbished up to pay a visit to Government House.

One day I took Kailas Babu aside and told him in a whisper: "Thakur Dada, I was at the Levee yesterday, and the Chota Lât Sahib happened to mention the Babus of Nayanjore. I told him that Kailas Babu had come to town. Do you know, he was terribly hurt because you hadn't called. He told me he was going to put etiquette on one side and pay you a private visit himself this very afternoon."

Anybody else could have seen through this plot of mine in a moment. And, if it had been directed against another person, Kailas Babu would have understood the joke. But after all that he had heard from his friend the Government servant, and after all his own exaggerations, a visit from the Lieutenant-Governor seemed the most natural thing in the world. He became highly nervous and excited at my news. Each detail of the coming visit exercised him greatly, most of all his own ignorance of English. How on earth was that difficulty to be met ? I told him there was no difficulty at all: it was aristocratic not to know English: and, besides, the Lieutenant Governor always brought an interpreter with him, and he had expressly mentioned that this visit was to be private.

About midday, when most of our neighbours are at work, and the rest are asleep, a carriage and pair stopped before the lodging of Kailas Babu. Two flunkeys in livery came up the stairs, and announced in a loud voice, "The Chota Lât Sahib has arrived !" Kailas Babu was ready, waiting for him, in his old fashioned ceremonial robes and ancestral turban, and Ganesh was by his side, dressed in his master's best suit of clothes for the occasion.

When the Chota Lât Sahib was announced, Kailas Babu ran panting and puffing and trembling to the door, and led in a friend of mine, in disguise, with repeated salaams, bowing low at each step and walking backward as best he could. He had his old family shawl spread over a hard wooden chair and he asked the Lât Sahib to be seated. He then made a high-flown speech in Urdu, the ancient Court language of the Sahibs, and presented on the golden salver a string of gold mohurs, the last relics of his broken fortune. The old family servant Ganesh, with an expression of awe bordering on terror, stood behind with the scent-sprinkler, drenching the Lât Sahib, and touched him gingerly from time to time with the otto-of-roses from the filigree box.

Kailas Babu repeatedly expressed his regret at not being able to receive His Honour Bahadur with all the ancestral magnificence of his own family estate at Nayanjore. There he could have welcomed him properly with due ceremonial. But in Calcutta he was a mere stranger and sojourner, in fact a fish out of water.

My friend, with his tall silk hat on, very gravely nodded. I need hardly say that according to English custom the hat ought to have been removed inside the room. But my friend did not dare to take it off for fear of detection: and Kailas Babu and his old servant Ganesh were sublimely unconscious of the breach of etiquette.

After a ten minutes' interview, which consisted chiefly of nodding the head, my friend rose to his feet to depart. The two flunkeys in livery, as had been planned beforehand, carried off in state the string of gold mohurs, the gold salver, the old ancestral shawl, the silver scent-sprinkler, and the otto-of-roses filigree box; they placed them ceremoniously in the carriage. Kailas Babu regarded this as the usual habit of Chota Lât Sahibs.

I was watching all the while from the next room. My sides were aching with suppressed laughter. When I could hold myself in no longer, I rushed into a further room, suddenly to discover, in a corner, a young girl sobbing as if her heart would break. When she saw my uproarious laughter she stood upright in passion, flashing the lightning of her big dark eyes in mine, and said with a tear choked voice: "Tell me ! What harm has my grandfather done to you ? Why have you come to deceive him ? Why have you come here ? Why..."

She could say no more. She covered her face with her hands and broke into sobs.

My laughter vanished in a moment. It had never occurred to me that there was anything but a supremely funny joke in this act of mine, and here I discovered that I had given the cruellest pain to this tenderest little heart. All the ugliness of my cruelty rose up to condemn me. I slunk out of the room in silence, like a kicked dog.

Hitherto I had only looked upon Kusum, the grand-daughter of Kailas Babu, as a somewhat worthless commodity in the marriage market, waiting in vain to attract a husband. But now I found, with a shock of surprise, that in the corner of that room a human heart was beating.

The whole night through I had very little sleep. My mind was in a tumult. On the next day, very early in the morning, I took all those stolen goods back to Kailas Babu's lodgings, wishing to hand them over in secret to the servant Ganesh. I waited outside the door, and, not finding any one, went upstairs to Kailas Babu's room. I heard from the passage Kusum asking her grandfather in the most winning voice: "Dada, dearest, do tell me all that the Chota Lât Sahib said to you yesterday. Don't leave out a single word. I am dying to hear it all over again."

And Dada needed no encouragement. His face beamed over with pride as he related all manner of praises which the Lât Sahib had been good enough to utter concerning the ancient families of Nayanjore. The girl was seated before him, looking up into his face, and listening with rapt attention. She was determined, out of love for the old man, to play her part to the full.

My heart was deeply touched, and tears came to my eyes. I stood there in silence in the passage, while Thakur Dada finished all his embellishments of the Chota Lât Sahib's wonderful visit. When he left the room at last, I took the stolen goods and laid them at the feet of the girl and came away without a word.

Later in the day I called again to see Kailas Babu himself. According to our ugly modern custom, I had been in the habit of making no greeting at all to this old man when I came into the room. But on this day I made a low bow and touched his feet. I am convinced the old man thought that the coming of the Chota Lât Sahib to his house was the cause of my new politeness. He was highly gratified by it, and an air of benign serenity shone from his eyes. His friends had looked in, and he had already begun to tell again at full length the story of the Lieutenant Governor's visit with still further adornments of a most fantastic kind. The interview was already becoming an epic, both in quality and in length.

When the other visitors had taken their leave, I made my proposal to the old man in a humble manner. I told him that, "though I could never for a moment hope to be worthy of marriage connection with such an illustrious family, yet ... etc. etc."

When I made clear my proposal of marriage, the old man embraced me and broke out in a tumult of joy: "I am a poor man, and could never have expected such great good fortune."

That was the first and last time in his life that Kailas Babu confessed to being poor. It was also the first and last time in his life that he forgot, if only for a single moment, the ancestral dignity that belongs to the Babus of Nayanjore.

 

 

RECIPE FOR A DELICIOUS POTATO AND CABBAGE CAKE (step by step + pictures) - culinary recipe

Today I bring to your attention an interesting and simple way of making cabbage cutlets, which will help to bring variety to your daily menu and simplify the preparation of your favorite dish.

I cook such vegetable cutlets in the form of one large tortilla, which I then cut into portioned pieces: I mixed everything you need in a frying pan, the cooking recipe is almost the same, only easier and, in my opinion, faster, because you don't have to stand at the stove for a long time.

The result is a very tasty, aromatic flatbread, with a crispy appetizing crust and without any problems, to taste, not inferior to cabbage cutlets. 

Try it and see yourself !

INGREDIENTS:

Cabbage - 350-400 gr.

Potatoes -1-2 pcs.

Egg - 2 pcs.

Sour cream - 2-3 tablespoons

Flour - 2-3 tablespoons

Salt, pepper 

Herbs, sesame seeds - optional

Vegetable oil - for frying

PREPARATION :

Rub the potatoes on a coarse grater, finely chop the cabbage, in this case,  I use a young cabbage, if you take hard cabbage, then pour boiling water over it for a few minutes. I send the chopped cabbage to a bowl with potatoes, add eggs, herbs to taste (I have green onions and parsley), sour cream or kefir, salt and pepper to taste.

I mix everything well.

I add flour last, stir and can be sent to a frying pan.

I heat up the pan and generously grease it with vegetable oil, send all the cabbage mass into it, distribute it over the pan and cover it with a lid.

I cook cabbage cake on both sides over low heat: about 15-20 minutes on one side. Then I turn the cake over to the other side with a plate and cook for another 10 minutes.

Put the finished dish on a plate, cut it into portions and serve.

 

 

TOGETHER FOREVER - by Shirley

 

TOGETHER  FOREVER by Shirley  As I look at your picture I wish you were hereThose sweet words you whisper I can hear so clearYou're saying you love me and want to hold me tightYou want to be near me and love me tonightI dream of you holding me and you made me seeThat together forever we were meant to beThe warmth of your body close to mineAs you and I are lost in timeYou reach out to touch me with your loving handI never knew you were such a caring manAs you and I embrace you say that you love meWith you my darling I will always be.

 

 

 

 

FALL HAS ARRIVED - by Lauren M.

 

FALL  HAS  ARRIVED  by  Lauren  M. The gush of wind blew my hair,Straight up to the unforgiving air.Fall was peaking around the trees,Leaves would pile high,soon up to my knees.Hello orange, yellow, and red,Goodbye green,Bye-bye June, July, and August,Hello Autumn.The warmth is gone and won the wind.

 

 

I WISH HE KNEW - by Maddie

 

I  WISH  HE  KNEW by    Maddie I wish he could knowWhat I'm too scared to show.I wish he could seeJust how much he means to me.I wish he could tellThat I know him so well.I wish he could feelMy love that is real.I wish he could hearThe things that I fearAbout him never knowingThat my love for him is growing.

 

 

AUTUMN MEMORIES - by Anajo

AUTUMN   MEMORIES  by  Anajo  The rose weeps a tearFor the close of the year.Leaves whisper the turnWhile bonfires burnTheir memories of kinder times.And swallows yearn for warmer climes. Spring hopes are flayedAs bitter winds lashFalse memories.Promises madeBlacken to ash. They shiver and weep,Fearing winter's long sleep.

 

 

AUTUMN LEAVES - by Edel T. Copeland

 

AUTUMN  LEAVES by   Edel T. Copeland Golden, crisp leaves falling softly from almost bare trees,Lifting and falling in a hushed gentle breeze.Slowly dropping to the soft cushioned ground,Whispering and rustling a soothing sound. Coppers, golds, and rusted tones,Mother Nature's way of letting go.They fall and gather one by one,Autumn is here, summer has gone. Crunching as I walk through their warm, fiery glow,Nature's carpet rich and pure that again shall grow.To protect and shield its majestic tree,Standing tall and strong for the world to see. They rise and fall in the cool, crisp air.It's a time of change in this world we share,Nature's importance reflecting our own lives,Letting go of our fears and again, too, we shall thrive.

 

 

THE "SO LONG" NOTE - by Gregory Snyder

 

THE  "SO  LONG"  NOTE by Gregory Snyder Do you still live around this place?If you strolled by would I recognize your face?Is your hair still trimmed shoulder length?Do you still wear your mother's claddagh ring? It's been so long... too long,since I've roamed these streets,And another life time to pen these words,I've so desperately longed to speak. How do I explain myself? Where would I even start?No consideration of how you felt & the toll it took on your heart.How do I explain myself? Where do I possibly begin?There isn't a day that goes by when...I don't struggle with, What we could have been...Oh, what we could have been. Here is my apology... A "So Long" Note, so long over due.I came back to our hometown hoping I'd run into you.but there's no sign of you. So, I sang my song and left my words in the air.Maybe you'll feel them the next time you're there.though, I doubt if you'll even care.Will you even care? I know I vanished, a ghost, gone without a trace.Leaving you in the night holding on to empty space.And after all these years, It's the thought of you I try to replace.Living a life of regret, It's the thought of us I try to erase. I go to our spot, where we first kissed.I look back on it now, God, we were just kids.I walk down the same old roads, I come upon the place you called home,I stare up at the window... of your old bedroom.I've never felt so alone... I've never felt alone. I see us as we once were, when we were younger,and it makes me wonder, what we could have been.It makes me wonder... What we could have been. Here is my apology... A "So Long" Note, so long over due.I came back to our hometown hoping I'd run into you.but there's no sign of you. So, I sang my song and left my words in the air.Maybe you'll feel them the next time you're there.

 

 

HAVE I EVER... - by Ravenz23

 

HAVE  I  EVER... by Ravenz23  Have I ever told youthat if I sit really still and silent,sometimes. I like to thinkI can hear your heart beatingin time with mine ? Have I ever told youthat when I watch you speak to methrough lines and cords,and bytes and ram,I imagineyour voice,whispering into my ear ? Have I ever told youthat I wait out each dayin anticipation,wantingonly an hour or two,just a second in space and time,to feel close to you ? Have I ever told youthat there has been times,when I ached for you,ached for you so badly,that the emotions overwhelmed me..and so I sat and cried ? Have I ever told youthat sometimes,I will reach out,touching your nameon this cold screen before me,wishingI could reach inand pull you to me ? Have I ever told youthat after the first time I heardthe sound of your voice,thousands of miles away,I sat up all night,turning the conversation over and overin my mind,examining it,like some newly discovered species of flower ? Have I ever told youthat I would give everything up,just for one nightto be able to lay near you,to feel your chest rise and fallwith each breath you take,just to know that you are real ? Have I ever told youthat I dream of you often,I dream of you reaching outand touching my hand,simply to let me knowthat you are there,and everything is okay ? Have I ever told you,have I still yet to tell you . . .that I love you ?

 

 

TOMORROW - by Anurag Tripathi

 

TOMORROW by Anurag Tripathi Everyday I write a poem titled "tomorrow"Its a handwritten list of people I  know that love me and I make sure to put my own name at the top.

 

 

 

 

 

FORGIVE ME - by Franci Welcker

FORGIVE  ME by   Franci Welcker I know I'm in the wrong again,I know the deed I did was sin,I know the way I treated you,Was terrible, rotten, and mean too,But if you could give me one more try,I promise I would make it right,Because you are too special to me,To just let go, and let free.I know that I said some untrue things,As your friend, it’s probably not meant to be,But if you could help me fight this fate,Before the time, is way too late,I know that you have other friends,Who are probably better at making amends,They would probably say this to your face,Or pretend it never happened, the very next day,But I'm not them, and they're not me,And if this is the end, then let it be.I will ask, just one more time,Could you give me one more try ?

 

 

A CONNECTION MADE - by Michael W Craven

 

A  CONNECTION  MADE  by Michael W Craven  Two meet in hopeA connection madeThey begin tender exploration Two souls created to beTogether as one beingTake faltering steps Souls melding seamlessThoughts intertwinedExpressive warmth Tenderness sharedEmotions laid bareAccepted and safe Peerless and pureJoined by the hopeOf freedom sure Airy ascendingWind rushingAlmost deafening Level flight soaringeffortless pearlsTreasured and bright Two hearts joined in joySpring hopeful nowResting in each other. Serene, tranquil, at peace.