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When pumpkins are watered, brinjals [small plants] also get watered.

Asian-Indian proverbs
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Shakuntala Act 1

King Dushyant in a chariot, pursuing an antelope, with a bow and quiver, attended by his Charioteer.
Suta (Charioteer). [Looking at the antelope, and then at the king]
When I cast my eye on that black antelope, and on thee, O king, with thy braced bow, I see before me, as it were, the God Mahésa chasing a hart (male deer), with his bow, named Pináca, braced in his left hand.

King Dushyant: The fleet animal has given us a long chase. Oh! there he runs, with his neck bent gracefully, looking back, from time to time, at the car (chariot) which follows him. Now, through fear of a descending shaft, he contracts his forehand, and extends his flexible haunches; and now, through fatigue, he pauses to nibble the grass in his path with his mouth half opened. See how he springs and bounds with long steps, lightly skimming the ground, and rising high in the air! And now so rapid is his flight, that he is scarce discernible!

Suta: The ground was uneven, and the horses were checked in their course. He has taken advantage of our delay. It is level now, and we may easily overtake him.

King Dushyant: Loosen the reins.

Suta: As the king commands. – [He drives the car first at full speed, and then gently.] – He could not escape. The horses were not even touched by the clouds of dust which they raised; they tossed their manes, erected their ears, and rather glided than galloped over the smooth plain.

King Dushyant: They soon outran the swift antelope. –Objects which, from their distance, appeared minute, presently became larger: what was really divided, seemed united, as we passed; and what was in truth bent, seemed straight. So swift was the motion of the wheels, that nothing, for many moments, was either distant or near. [He fixes an arrow in his bowstring.]

[Behind the scenes.] He must not be slain. This antelope, O king, has an asylum in our forest: he must not be slain.

Suta: [Listening and Looking.] Just as the animal presents a fair mark for our arrow, two hermits are advancing to interrupt your aim

King Dushyant: Then stop the car.

Suta: The king is obeyed. [He draws in the reins.]

Enter a Hermit and his Pupil.

Hermit: [Raising his hands.] Slay not, O mighty sovereign, slay not a poor fawn, who has found a place of refuge. No, surely, no; he must not be hurt. An arrow in the delicate body of a deer would be like fire in bale of cotton. Compared with thy keen shafts, how weak must be the tender hide of a young antelope! Replace quickly, oh! replace the arrow which thou hast aimed. The weapons of you kings and warriors are destined for the relief of the oppressed, not for the destruction of the guiltless.

King Dushyant: [Saluting them.] It is replaced.

[He places the arrow in his quiver.]

Hermit: [With joy] Worthy is that act of thee, most illustrious; of monarchs; worthy, indeed, of a prince descended from Puru. Mayst thou have a son adorned with virtues, a sovereign of the world!

Pupil: [Elevating both his hands.] Oh! by all means, may thy son be adorned with every virtue, a sovereign of the world!

King Dushyant: [Bowing to them.] My head bears with reverence the order of a Bráhmin

Hermit: Great king, we came hither to collect wood for a solemn sacrifice; and this forest, and the banks of the Malini, affords an asylum to the wild animals protected by Shakuntala, (Shakuntala) whom our holy preceptor Kanva has received as a sacred deposit. If you have no other avocation, enter yon grove, and let the rights of hospitality be duly performed. Having seen with your own eyes the virtuous behaviour of those whose only wealth is their piety, but whose worldly cares are now at an end, you will then exclaim, 'How many good subjects are defended by this arm, which the bowstring has made callous!'

King Dushyant: Is the master of your family at home?

Hermit: Our preceptor is gone to Sómatirt'ha, in hopes of deprecating some calamity, with which destiny threatens the irreproachable Shakuntala, and he has charged her, in his absence, to receive all guests with due honour.

King Dushyant: Holy man, I will attend her; and she, having observed my devotion, will report it favourably to the venerable sage.

Both: Be it so; and we depart on our own business. [The Hermit and his Pupil go out.]

King Dushyant: Drive on Suta. By visiting the abode of holiness, we shall purify our souls.

Suta: As the king (may his life be long!) commands. [He drives on.]

[...] Read more

poem by Kalidasa
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Cyder: Book I

-- -- Honos erit huic quoq; Pomo? Virg.

What Soil the Apple loves, what Care is due
To Orchats, timeliest when to press the Fruits,
Thy Gift, Pomona, in Miltonian Verse
Adventrous I presume to sing; of Verse
Nor skill'd, nor studious: But my Native Soil
Invites me, and the Theme as yet unsung.

Ye Ariconian Knights, and fairest Dames,
To whom propitious Heav'n these Blessings grants,
Attend my Layes; nor hence disdain to learn,
How Nature's Gifts may be improv'd by Art.

And thou, O Mostyn, whose Benevolence,
And Candor, oft experienc'd, Me vouchsaf'd
To knit in Friendship, growing still with Years,
Accept this Pledge of Gratitude and Love.
May it a lasting Monument remain
Of dear Respect; that, when this Body frail
Is moulder'd into Dust, and I become
As I had never been, late Times may know
I once was blest in such a matchless Friend.

Who-e'er expects his lab'ring Trees shou'd bend
With Fruitage, and a kindly Harvest yield,
Be this his first Concern; to find a Tract
Impervious to the Winds, begirt with Hills,
That intercept the Hyperborean Blasts
Tempestuous, and cold Eurus nipping Force,
Noxious to feeble Buds: But to the West
Let him free Entrance grant, let Zephyrs bland
Administer their tepid genial Airs;
Naught fear he from the West, whose gentle Warmth
Discloses well the Earth's all-teeming Womb,
Invigorating tender Seeds; whose Breath
Nurtures the Orange, and the Citron Groves,
Hesperian Fruits, and wafts their Odours sweet
Wide thro' the Air, and distant Shores perfumes.
Nor only do the Hills exclude the Winds:
But, when the blackning Clouds in sprinkling Show'rs
Distill, from the high Summits down the Rain
Runs trickling; with the fertile Moisture chear'd,
The Orchats smile; joyous the Farmers see
Their thriving Plants, and bless the heav'nly Dew.

Next, let the Planter, with Discretion meet,
The Force and Genius of each Soil explore;
To what adapted, what it shuns averse:

[...] Read more

poem by John Arthur Phillips
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When pumpkins are watered, brinjals (a small vegetable) also get watered.

Kashmiri proverbs
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Small Talk

Its not the chapters he reads when youre feeling low down
Its not the touch of his skin when you kiss him goodnight
Its not the money he spends when you want to buy a daydream
And not that miracle smile that makes the sky bright
Its not the way his hands behave
When youve turned out the light
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you want to fly, yes it does
Its not the way he believes in you like a religion
Its not the thrill that you get when hes holding you tight
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen (just like that)
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
Information, heart and soul, a whisper, a word
Confessions that have to be heard
Small small talk
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you make it rock so heavenly
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you seem to talk so heavenly
Big words...
Small talk...
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does

song performed by Roxette
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The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo

I

On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,--
One old jug without a handle,--
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

II

Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,--
''Tis the lady Jingly Jones!
'On that little heap of stones
'Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

III

'Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
'Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
'Will you come and be my wife?'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
'I am tired of living singly,--
'On this coast so wild and shingly,--
'I'm a-weary of my life:
'If you'll come and be my wife,
'Quite serene would be my life!'--
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

IV

'On this Coast of Coromandel,
'Shrimps and watercresses grow,
'Prawns are plentiful and cheap,'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
'You shall have my chairs and candle,
'And my jug without a handle!--

[...] Read more

poem by Edward Lear
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When pumpkins are watered, brinjals also get watered.

Kashmiri proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Small Town

Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me

song performed by John Mellencamp
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The Georgics

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom
Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes,
The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power,
Thy native forest and Lycean lawns,
Pan, shepherd-god, forsaking, as the love
Of thine own Maenalus constrains thee, hear
And help, O lord of Tegea! And thou, too,
Minerva, from whose hand the olive sprung;
And boy-discoverer of the curved plough;
And, bearing a young cypress root-uptorn,
Silvanus, and Gods all and Goddesses,
Who make the fields your care, both ye who nurse
The tender unsown increase, and from heaven
Shed on man's sowing the riches of your rain:
And thou, even thou, of whom we know not yet
What mansion of the skies shall hold thee soon,
Whether to watch o'er cities be thy will,
Great Caesar, and to take the earth in charge,
That so the mighty world may welcome thee
Lord of her increase, master of her times,
Binding thy mother's myrtle round thy brow,
Or as the boundless ocean's God thou come,
Sole dread of seamen, till far Thule bow
Before thee, and Tethys win thee to her son
With all her waves for dower; or as a star
Lend thy fresh beams our lagging months to cheer,
Where 'twixt the Maid and those pursuing Claws
A space is opening; see! red Scorpio's self
His arms draws in, yea, and hath left thee more
Than thy full meed of heaven: be what thou wilt-
For neither Tartarus hopes to call thee king,

[...] Read more

poem by Virgil
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Tiny Planet

Its a small world
Just a tiny planet
Its a small small world
Ever since the earth began
Its been a small world
Heres the message, heed it
Its a small small world
Youve got to give where its
Most needed
Look at the children
Dont it almost break your heart?
Reach out and touch one
Reach out and help one
Make a brand new start
Its a small world
Just a tiny planet
Its a small small world
Ever since the earth began
Its been a small world
Heres the message, heed it
Its a small small worlds
Youve got to give where its
Most needed
Take a look at what youve got
Compare it to your neighbour
And the little that you need to give
Is going to be that saviour
Its a small world
Just a tiny planet
Its a small small world
Ever since the earth began
Its been a small world
Heres the message, heed it
Its a small small worlds
Youve got to give where its
Most needed

song performed by Cliff Richard
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Nun in FRiar Small-Bro's Grave... Yard

The midnight clings to dwarfish kings
While robot drones, adorning thrones,
Kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard.
Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box
Grace FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The diplohacks, in melting wax,
Are swept along, a thriving throng,
Just dying for a life...guard.
And Nun, alone, has beached their bones
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Beyond the streams, a raven screams
At loser fish that swarm and swish;
Nun gently drips her dreams...jarred.
There are no thanks along the banks
Of FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles
The hierarch obeys his bark;
His maw is oozing pure...lard.
He tells you who and what to do
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Well, FRiar's pets are in a sweat;
He calls the tunes near burning dunes
And taps his cloven feet...charred.
They roast in rooms within the tombs
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

His myrmidons, they drool and fawn
While chanting verse near FRiar's hearse -
Extolling, wild, the van...guard.
Remote controls promote the trolls
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With faces straight, in bent debate,
They compromise their empty lies
With any passing re...tard.
Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With ghouls, unlearned, no stone's unturned,
They burnish blame with Nun's proud name
And leave the midnight sky... scarred.
They raise their hats to copy cats
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The rumours spread amongst the dead -
Nun marks the place with saving grace,

[...] Read more

poem by Terry O'Leary
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Time To Turn Over A New Leaf

The Plant Kingdom isn't all sweetness and light.
Some plants digest animal life
And destroy buildings and spread diseases.
However, these Godmade creatures
Have their place in the Universe
And deserve to be protected.
That's why trees are continually planted
To replace the ones we use.
Plant a Tree is part of our culture.
It isn't some politically correct philosophy,
It's an essential revitalisation of Nature.
We breathe out carbon dioxide
Which the plants absorb and exhale oxygen.
We act in symbiosis.

We exist by the Grace of God,
The Creator of all things.
Plants can't create us with our fantastic thoughts
And developments as we ourselves
Live and die and are replaced by our offspring.
Plants remain at their peak
As if no further developments are required.
I do not see any plant as superior to me.
I never will. Even when buried,
I await a resurrection promise to be fulfilled.
I will live again. I will walk upon the land once more.
This promise is not extended to plants
That they will live forever.

I see plants as living creatures full of wonder.
A humble microscope reveals
The tiny algae and their secrets.
The flowers are tended by Man,
Cultivated, nurtured like babes in the wood,
Fertilised orchids treated as preciously as diamonds.
Even the amateur gardener admires
The perfumed garden outside his home
And reflects upon his neighbours' gardens, too,
With a sense of community pride.

God Himself set Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.
A Paradise on Earth, without blemish,
Without a briar or a thorn in sight.
It was Man and Woman who succumbed to temptation
And we abide now upon a fallen world.
We owe the plants no apology, no response at all.
We need not talk to the trees or the lilies of the field.
We need to make our peace with our Patriarch,
Our Heavenly Father. We need the Saviour.

[...] Read more

poem by Denis Martindale
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Eden Still Existent

New Zealand
South Island
West Coast

tropical rain forest
sacred images fuse soul
under canopy of life

Eden still existent
living temple of life
flowers in eye heart

breath embrace atmosphere
sight embrace vision horizons
touch ecosystem life non-life

sunlight wind kiss water soil
light water soil nutrients bless
plants into new sprouting life

lakes rivers landscapes
everything is connected life
water; water temperature

plants animals inhale air
light soil water work together
balance life elements least

plants die algae plants
produce oxygen produce fibre
feed herbivores omnivores

energy soil sunlight water
plants produce filter air
produce diverse vegetation

their plant bodies foods
animals herbivores feast eat
plants omnivores feast eat

plants animals both eaten
carnivores eat herbivores
sometimes other carnivores

webs of life interlock creation
decomposers break down dead
planets animals into elements

organic materials waste recycled
back into life nurturing womb soil

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Georgic 2

Thus far the tilth of fields and stars of heaven;
Now will I sing thee, Bacchus, and, with thee,
The forest's young plantations and the fruit
Of slow-maturing olive. Hither haste,
O Father of the wine-press; all things here
Teem with the bounties of thy hand; for thee
With viny autumn laden blooms the field,
And foams the vintage high with brimming vats;
Hither, O Father of the wine-press, come,
And stripped of buskin stain thy bared limbs
In the new must with me.
First, nature's law
For generating trees is manifold;
For some of their own force spontaneous spring,
No hand of man compelling, and possess
The plains and river-windings far and wide,
As pliant osier and the bending broom,
Poplar, and willows in wan companies
With green leaf glimmering gray; and some there be
From chance-dropped seed that rear them, as the tall
Chestnuts, and, mightiest of the branching wood,
Jove's Aesculus, and oaks, oracular
Deemed by the Greeks of old. With some sprouts forth
A forest of dense suckers from the root,
As elms and cherries; so, too, a pigmy plant,
Beneath its mother's mighty shade upshoots
The bay-tree of Parnassus. Such the modes
Nature imparted first; hence all the race
Of forest-trees and shrubs and sacred groves
Springs into verdure.
Other means there are,
Which use by method for itself acquired.
One, sliving suckers from the tender frame
Of the tree-mother, plants them in the trench;
One buries the bare stumps within his field,
Truncheons cleft four-wise, or sharp-pointed stakes;
Some forest-trees the layer's bent arch await,
And slips yet quick within the parent-soil;
No root need others, nor doth the pruner's hand
Shrink to restore the topmost shoot to earth
That gave it being. Nay, marvellous to tell,
Lopped of its limbs, the olive, a mere stock,
Still thrusts its root out from the sapless wood,
And oft the branches of one kind we see
Change to another's with no loss to rue,
Pear-tree transformed the ingrafted apple yield,
And stony cornels on the plum-tree blush.
Come then, and learn what tilth to each belongs
According to their kinds, ye husbandmen,
And tame with culture the wild fruits, lest earth

[...] Read more

poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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One Small Step

So many people
Need to go so many miles
How do we move them
To where the answer lies
Reach out to the ocean
Beyond the stars that shine
Weve got to take one small step in time
If we are the dreamers
Then the world must be the dream
Driven to question
All the things weve never seen
We search the horizon
Looking for a sign
Weve got to take one small step in time
One step beyond
All our hopes and our passion
There is the light of the universe flashin
All that it takes is one leap of faith
One small step, (one small step)
One small step in time
Deep in the darkness
(deep in the blackness)
Theres a wind that never dies
(theres a wind that never dies)
Out in the vastness
(out in the vastness)
Theres a road across the sky
(a road across the sky)
Out there is the reason
That we were meant to find
Weve got to take one small step in time
Weve got to take one small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)

song performed by Cher
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The Majestic Tree

They bow to the winds that pass
The beautiful majestic trees,  
With arms up toward the skies
They laugh in the summer breeze. 
They provide shade and shelter for the bee,  
He plants history, who plants a tree.
They provide lumber for houses, and barns
For a roof to cover our heads,  
Lumber for aeroplanes, ships and cars
And for caskets, to bury our dead. 
This is only a few uses you see
He plants history, who plants a tree.

They provide rest for the weary man
Food and protection, for many wild things,  
Home and sanctuary, for millions of birds
And rock their babies to sleep in swings. 
Their magestic grace so wild and free
He plants history, who plants a tree.

poem by Della Hodgson James
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The greatest thing

I put the seed
into ground that I
mingled with dark black compost.

Rows of beans,
some carrots, some pumpkins
and spinach
I sowed into the orange brown earth.

Some small tomato plants,
I planted in blocks
and pressed small
frames of reeds
on top
for them to crawl over.

Every day I sprayed water
and tended the weeds
and in time
little green plants
sprang out of the ground
and the tomatoes crept
and crawled all over
their reeds.

It was great to be part
of spring and see
living things sprout
from the ground,
but a dog dug
some carrots out
and a flock of mice
came to eat
tomatoes from the plants.

Yet in time
some great vegetables
came to my table
and spring was awesome
and so was summer
and to tend my own garden
is the greatest thing.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Twirl

(kinky friedman)
Just a small-town girl
Till you learned to twirl
Then you set the world on fire
Like a drive-in cinderella
In a chevy named desire
So leave your teddy-bear
At the county fair,
Honey, hollywoods on the phone,
For a small-town girl
From a small-town world
Youre a long, long way from home.
They say that dreams come true in indiana
That momma loves you up in abilene,
And if you wish upon a star in texarkana
Some day you may be a twirling queen.
Just a small-town girl
Till you learned to twirl
Then you set the world on fire
Like a drive-in cinderella
In a chevy named desire
So leave your teddy-bear
At the county fair,
Honey, hollywoods on the phone,
For a small-town girl
From a small-town world
Youre a long, long way from home.
Then you turned around and yesterday was over,
Childhoods like some long lost lullabye
Way back when all the pearls were in the ocean,
Way back when all the stars were in the sky.
Just a small-town girl
Till you learned to twirl
Then you set the world on fire
Like a drive-in cinderella
In a chevy named desire
So leave your teddy-bear
At the county fair,
Honey, hollywoods on the phone,
For a small-town girl
From a small-town world
Youre a long, long way from home.
Just a small-town girl
Till you learned to twirl
Then you set the world on fire
Like a drive-in cinderella
In a chevy named desire
So leave your teddy-bear
At the county fair,
Honey, hollywoods on the phone,

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinky Friedman
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Small Doses

You'd think after fourty
Long days and nights
I'd finally get used to the rain
But until the storm passes
Outta my mind
The only thing I know
To take for the pain is..
Small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little whiskey and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
My doctor said son
Aint a thing I can do
To help you get on with your life
So till I find a way
To forget about you
Me and your memory
Will have a big time.
Small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little whiskey and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
With small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little Jim Beam and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
With small, small doses
A sip at a time...

song performed by Travis Tritt
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Smalltown

When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
You say, no one famous ever came from here
When youre growing up in a small town
And youre having a nervous breakdown
And you think that youll never escape it
Yourself or the place that you live
Where did picasso come from
Theres no michelangelo coming from pittsburgh
If art is the tip of the iceberg
Im the part sinking below
When youre growing up in a small town
Bad skin, bad eyes, gay and fatty
People look at you funny
When youre in a small town
My father worked in construction
Its not something for which Im suited
Oh, what is something for which you are suited
Getting out of here
I hate being odd in a small town
If they stare let them stare in new york city
As this pink eyed painting albino
How far can my fantasy go
Im no dali coming from pittsburgh
No adorable lisping capote
My hero, oh, do you think I could meet him
Id camp out at his front door
There is only one good thing about small town
There is only one good use for a small town
There is only one good thing about small town
You know that you want to get out
When youre growing up in a small town
You know youll grow down in a small town
There is only one good use for a small town
You hate it and youll know you have to leave

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Reluctant Visitor

The Reverend Peter Porter Guys
Was a gentle man with anaemic eyes,
Pale blue, that watered wherever he went
From Epiphany, to the fasting of Lent.

He walked the villages of his flock
From door to door, from knock to knock,
And always he mentioned the Organ Fund
To the full of life, and the moribund.

He went from house to house with glee
Consuming hundreds of cups of tea,
And never noticed - and there's the rub,
That 'hubby' had gone to hide at the pub.

The ladies listened with wringing hands
To the trials of Job and the Lord's commands,
And simpered long in the hopes that he
Could give them a personal 'Heaven' key.

Forgive their sins, both now and then
Put in a word with the Lord for them,
Perhaps forgive them a future sin
Or two or three - like a lottery win!

His eyes then watered, the Reverend Guys
He gave no specials, he told no lies,
The road was narrow, the road was straight
With no back alleys to Heaven's Gate.

One day he went to visit the Dunns
They hadn't been to his service once,
Just newly moved from a house in town
They'd come to the country, settled down.

Now Peggy Dunn, she wanted to fit
With the country types of Nether Stitt,
She'd sworn to please, so she asked him in
And they sat in her bright solarium.

His eyes, they watered in there the most
As he talked of the passing Holy Ghost,
While Peggy shuddered and looked askance
At the pot containing her cannabis plant.

Her husband Don was an atheist,
Who didn't believe that gods exist,
'We all came down from a worm, ' he said,
'That turned to a monkey; then we bred! '

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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