Oh, no, no! Don’t you get your gun.
It’s not that kind of wicked fun.
It’s just that rough and tumble stuff
Where one can say, “Enough ‘s enough!”
And go your separate ways, knowing
That the fight is still ongoing,
And it’ll never really be done
‘Cause it’d never truly begun.
Row me into nowhere --
The middle of the sea --
To drift without a care
As waves roll under me.
Row me into nowhere,
That vacant stretch of sea,
To watch blue skies, so fair,
For an eternity.
Row me into nowhere;
I'll bob upon the waves.
Let me make it my lair:
Free of rascals and knaves.
Row me into nowhere
When all the good are gone;
I'll breathe that salty air
Until my soul moves on.
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals --
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting --
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore, --
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings --
I know why the caged bird sings!
spring rains green
the fort's horizonal and
its vertical.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
mountain meadow:
horses graze, leisurely,
a rancher splits wood.
One sleepless night:
I sit up to strum my lute.
The moon shines through thin curtains,
A gentle breeze rustles my robe.
A wild goose honks in the wilderness,
Stirring a cascade of other birdcall.
I pace and peek out windows --
Alone, and burdened with sorrows.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 