The world

[vatjui]

Now, today I've spoken to young gurls and boys about their lives. I've noticed that sadness, well not sadness, but ignorance of happiness is all around. One gurl who doesn't understand and another who cuts herself. So I'm going to do whatever I can anywhere. Try to shed light. For now I'm going to share poetry from a book that dates back to 1919. An issue of The Ontario Readers.

A song for April

List! List! The buds confer.
This noonday they've had news of her;
The south bank has had views of her;
The thorn shall exact his dues of her;
The willows adream
By the freshet stream
Shall ask what bon they choose of her.

Up! Up! The world's astir;
The would-be green has word of her;
Root and germ have heard of her,
Coming to break
Their sleep and wake
Their hearts with every bird of her.

See! See! How swift concur
Sun, wind, and rain at the name of her,
A-wondering what became of her;
The fields flower at the flame of her;
The glad air sings
With dancing wings
And the silvery shrill acclaim of her.

Charles G. D. Roberts

[Unplanned_Childhood]

I am begining to feel smothered by replication, imitation and a sense of impending congradulations.

[vatjui]

Ahhh, I see. I try when I try. And when I try it's something I can't control. Do you know where I'm coming from?