The Idol’s Tongue (Billy Bennett Poems)
She was only a postman's daughter But oh, how she sorted the male. * * * *There's a little chinese ...
She was only a postman's daughter But oh, how she sorted the male. * * * *There's a little chinese ...
Fence must be looked at; fence is too much neglected;Most ancient indeed is fence; but it is not merelyWhite ants' ...
The SailorI'd like to be a sailor - a sailor bold and bluff -Calling out, "Ship ahoy!" in manly tones ...
Three cheers for the postman, the jolly old postman,With letters for Smith, Brown and Kelly, A load in his sack, ...
I've told about the times that Ma can't find her pocketbook, And how we have to hustle round for it ...
I wrote a letter to my luveAn' posted it yestreen,In lile red pillar box 'at standsNigh Wesdale village green,I watched ...
I'd like to be a postman, and walk along the street,Calling out, "Good Morning, Sir," to gentlemen I meet,Ringing every ...
The postman comes when I am still in bed. "Postman, what do you have for me today?" I say to ...
December 1899 I She sits in the tawny vapour That the Thames-side lanes have uprolled, Behind whose webby fold-on-fold Like ...
watching the snow, slowly starting accumulating snow, first on the lawn, building, gathering on the needles broad, small, firs, pines ...
There are no postage stamps that send letters back to England three centuries ago, no postage stamps that make letters ...
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, mother dear? The rain is coming ...
Frau Doktor, Mama Brundig, take out your contacts, remove your wig. I write for you. I entertain. But frogs come ...
Everything here is yellow and green. Listen to its throat, its earthskin, the bone dry voices of the peepers as ...
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound ...
Can I, my friend, with thee condole?-- Can I conceive the woes that try men, When late repentance racks the ...
"Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad, On this glittering morn of May?" "I'm going to join the Colours, ...
Smith, great writer of stories, drank; found it immortalized his pen; Fused in his brain-pan, else a blank, heavens of ...
Who are these people at the bridge to meet me? They are the villagers---- The rector, the midwife, the sexton, ...
Beside the bare and beaten track of travelling flocks and herds The woodpecker went tapping on, the postman of the ...
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