One thousand brilliant stars punched holes in my consciousness, pricking me with longing. I could stare at the stars for hours, their infinite number and depth pulling me into a part of myself that I ignored during the day.
One thousand brilliant stars punched holes in my consciousness, pricking me with longing. I could stare at the stars for hours, their infinite number and depth pulling me into a part of myself that I ignored during the day.
Finally, I realized what makes my garden exciting is me. Living in it every day, participating minutely in each small event, I see with doubled and redoubled vision. Where friends notice a solitary hummingbird pricking the salvia flowers, I recall a season's worth of hummingbird battles.
I don't like to see him minimize (the illness), because it breaks my heart to see what he does every day. Pricking his finger . . . taking all those supplies with him . . . putting a needle in his leg or stomach.
What always frightens people is personal exposure, ... Nothing hits home like pricking yourself with a needle and signing with blood.
Second Witch By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks.
If love be rough with you, be rough with lovePrick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
These are the saddest of possible words, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Trio of Bear Cubs fleeter than birds, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, Making a Giant hit into a double, Words that are weighty with nothing but trouble, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. This brief poem, immortalized the Chicago Cubs' double-play combination Shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and first baseman Frank Chance.
By the pricking of my thumbs Something wicked this way comes.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories