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Poem for the Year of the BuffaloI was born in the year of the buffalo A year that brings many troubles A buffalo toils all year round Works hard but never grumbles
When i was very small I walked With my buffalo to the village fields Green grass, high flying kites Buffalo and I would daydream
There was so much wind In the wide open fields There was so much sun Buffalos eyes would brim
Dont play music near a buffalos ear- Please dont tell me that If a buffalo looks, a buffalo knows It doesnt need to hear
I left home a long time ago But when spring comes I go back There I meet the black buffalo Still attentive, innocent
The buffalo eats grass all day Spring offers up grass again Thanks to heaven for watching over The buffalos youth, that never ends. Recently Added- To A Friend
I ask but one thing of you, only one, That always you will be my dream of you; That never shall I wake to find untrue All this I have believed and rested on, Forever vanished, like a vision gone Out into the night. Alas, how few There are who strike in us a chord we knew Existed, but so seldom heard its tone We tremble at the half-forgotten sound. The world is full of rude awakenings And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground, Yet still our human longing vainly clings To a belief in beauty through all wrongs. O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs! In Friendship - 108 days ago - The Eagle, The Sow, And The Cat
THE Queen of Birds, t'encrease the Regal Stock, Had hatch'd her young Ones in a stately Oak, Whose Middle-part was by a Cat possest, And near the Root with Litter warmly drest, A teeming Sow had made her peaceful Nest. (Thus Palaces are cramm'd from Roof to Ground, And Animals, as various, in them found.) When to the Sow, who no Misfortune fear'd, Puss with her fawning Compliments appear'd, Rejoicing much at her Deliv'ry past, And that she 'scap'd so well, who bred so fast. Then every little Piglin she commends, And likens them to all their swinish Friends; Bestows good Wishes, but with Sighs implies, That some dark Fears do in her Bosom rise. Such Tempting Flesh, she cries, will Eagles spare? Methinks, good Neighbour, you should live in Care: Since I, who bring not forth such dainty Bits, Tremble for my unpalatable Chits; And had I but foreseen, the Eagle's Bed Was in this fatal Tree to have been spread; I sooner wou'd have kitten'd in the Road, Than made this Place of Danger my abode. I heard her young Ones lately cry for Pig, And pity'd you, that were so near, and big. In Friendship this I secretly reveal, Lest Pettitoes shou'd make th' ensuing Meal; Or else, perhaps, Yourself may be their aim, For a Sow's Paps has been a Dish of Fame. No more the sad, affrighted Mother hears, But overturning all with boist'rous Fears, She from her helpless Young in haste departs, Whilst Puss ascends, to practice farther Arts. The Anti-chamber pass'd, she scratch'd the Door; The Eagle, ne'er alarum'd so before, Bids her come in, and look the Cause be great, That makes her thus disturb the Royal Seat; Nor think, of Mice and Rats some pest'ring Tale Shall, in excuse of Insolence, prevail. Alas! my Gracious Lady, quoth the Cat, I think not of such Vermin; Mouse, or Rat To me are tasteless grown; nor dare I stir To use my Phangs, or to expose my Fur. A Foe intestine threatens all around, And ev'n this lofty Structure will confound; A Pestilential Sow, a meazel'd Pork On the Foundation has been long at work, Help'd by a Rabble, issu'd from her Womb, Which she has foster'd in that lower Room; Who now for Acorns are so madly bent, That soon this Tree must fall, for their Content. I wou'd have fetch'd some for th' unruly Elves; But 'tis the Mob's delight to help Themselves: Whilst your high Brood must with the meanest drop, And steeper be their Fall, as next the Top; Unless you soon to Jupiter repair, And let him know, the Case demands his Care.
Oh! May the Trunk but stand, 'till you come back! But hark! already sure, I hear it crack. Away, away---The Eagle, all agast, Soars to the Sky, nor falters in her haste: Whilst crafty Puss, now o'er the Eyry reigns, Replenishing her Maw with treach'rous Gains. The Sow she plunders next, and lives alone; The Pigs, the Eaglets, and the House her own.
Curs'd Sycophants! How wretched is the Fate Of those, who know you not, till 'tis too late! In Friendship - 108 days ago
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