Steam spilling, white froths licking Marble mantle pieces, stone white Opaque ghosts swirling conspicuously, Silently naught with disturbance and gloat Humble in nature, the steam spills From the open pours, Streaming running water spring, a delightful swing slight melodies of sulfuric and mountain flirting lavishly , emitting heat an early morning bathe, bright sunshine invades sleeping shadows tinted cold a chilling sensation humming with that of the pool’s lip
fluttering autumn leaves
cascading crystal flakes
rustling green trees
tickling cool rain The surface of the spring’s pool remains It stirs with the slightest breath Occupying stark bodies Gleaming baby red Washing away, cleansing a new day As sunlight sparkles.
hy heart is in the upper world, where fleet the chamois bounds;
Thy heart is where the mountain-fir shakes to the torrent-sounds; And where the snow-peaks gleam like stars, through the stillness of the air, And where the Lauwine's peal is heart - Hunter! thy heart is there!
I know thou lovest me well, dear friend! but better, better far, Thou lovest that high and haughty life, with rocks and storms at war; In the green sunny vales with me, thy spirit would but pine, And yet I will be thine, my love! and yet I will be thine!
And I will not seek to woo thee down from those thy native heights, With the sweet song, our land's own song, of pastoral delights; For thou must live as eagles live, thy path is not as mine, And yet I will be thine, my love! and yet I will be thine!
And I will leave my blessed home, my father's joyous hearth, With all the voices meeting there in tenderness and mirth, With all the kind and laughing eyes that in its firelight shine, To sit forsaken in thy hut, yet know that thou art mine!
It is my youth, it is my bloom, it is my glad free heart, That I cast away for thee - for thee, all reckless as thou art! With tremblings and with vigils lone, I bind myself to dwell, Yet, yet I would not change that lot, oh no! I love too well!
A mournful thing is love which grows to one so wild as thou, With that bright restlessness of eye, that tameless fire of brow. Mournful! - but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride, And the trouble of its happiness, than aught on earth beside.
To listen for thy step in vain, to start at every breath, To watch through long long nights of storm, to sleep and dream of death, To wake in doubt and loneliness - this doom I know is mine And yet I will be thine, my love! and yet I will be thine!
That I may greet thee from thine Alps, when thence thou comest at last, That I may hear thy thrilling voice tell o'er each danger past, That I may kneel and pray for thee, and win thee aid divine - For this I will be thine, my love! for this I will be thine!
A wild boar came into town
because he felt so alone
he rampaged some doors and entered a home
to find some food in the kitchen
I came across the story in a newspaper and it really happened in Bavaria.
Police came and thought it was a thief, but then they found tracks of the boar.
Nobody saw him and that fellow disappered into the forest after he found food in a
restauran's kitchen and in a private home
Peter, Peter Pumpkin eater But i don't devour pumpkins Those deciving crooks What do they know about me? Absolutely nothing I wouldn't hurt a fly Unless it hurt me Tolerant until the temper has been flared out
We were born beating to different drums. But it was more than that, you always marched to the rhythm of your own song. Eventually we stopped trying to march side-by-side. We both composed our own melodies, unable to distinguish the beat of one another’s drum. Until I can only hear my own harmony and realize you stopped hitting your drum all together. I have no gifts to give, I can only stand beside you and beat our old tune waiting for you to find your rhythm and begin to beat again.