Boasting rooster in quick morning light will awake the dawn.
Blue moon rising in the dead of night will awake the dawn.
Some children like to snuggle up in warmth and stay in bed,
Yet they on Christmas day with delight will awake the dawn.
The disenchanted lover wanders home alone to mope;
Life has lost its spark, and moans of plight will awake the dawn.
The forest sleeps, yet creatures roam its depths in well-worn paths;
Myriads of birds defying quiet will awake the dawn.
A rosebud waits unopened, well hid in corner garden;
Its courageous opening petals bright will awake the dawn.
And Bruce entrapped inside by winter’s callous frozen clutch,
Spreading wings in spring and taking flight will awake the dawn.
The canyon wasn’t wide but it was very deep. From the swing bridge that crossed the canyon the river at the bottom looked like a thread of cotton. In a wind, even a light breeze, the bridge would be closed. That meant a two-hour drive to get to the other side, rather than a five minute walk on the bridge. But safety came first.
Now Garrett had always been a bit of a dare-devil, so no one was particular surprised when he entered a local radio competition. The radio was going to string a hammock underneath the bridge and the contestant would have to spend a night sleeping there. All for a hundred dollars.
Don’t worry, said the radio, the hammock is quite safe and has been checked by expert engineers. It’s not going to fall.
That might be true but unfortunately Garrett got up to go to the bathroom.
Pricilla was an expert at tasseography, and she made a pretty penny at the trade. Of course, she did it for fun although some people took it seriously. To read tea leaves in cups brightened everyone’s day. Occasionally a group of friends would come along together and after drinking their tea would insist on a communal reading. It was good for a laugh!
Sometimes however Priscilla took things more seriously. Reading teacups could be more of an opportunity to listen and help people who were at a loss. They had come to the tasseographer because they were reaching out for help. Pricilla was an expert at divining those who were distraught and bringing out the best in people. Telling fortunes by reading tea leaves was simply a vehicle. In fact, once in a very long while, a friendship would form “over the teacups”.
Once a woman had come along to have her tea leaves read (although it should be noted that Pricilla also read coffee dregs if that was the client’s preference). Pricilla could tell she was distressed. It turned out that the woman had murdered her husband. It had been all over the papers and the police had been at a loss as to who had done the dastardly deed. And here was Mavis A. Clenovavitch of 29 Hartford Lane (sorry, I shouldn’t have used her name) telling Pricilla what the police had spent weeks trying to find out.
Now things had reached a pretty pass for Pricilla. Should she, or should she not, tell the police? I mean, was she under any obligation to report such things or should she regard confidentiality as sacred?
In the end Pricilla decided not to tell a soul. That is why to this day Mavis A. Clenovavitch of 29 Hartford Lane walks scot free, and both she and Pricilla enjoy the substantial fortune Mavis’ late husband left in his will.
Here is a Serenade for String Orchestra. It is in five movements.
I: The audio can he heard HERE, and the sheet music can be downloaded HERE. II: The audio can he heard HERE, and the sheet music can be downloaded HERE. III: The audio can he heard HERE, and the sheet music can be downloaded HERE. IV: The audio can he heard HERE, and the sheet music can be downloaded HERE. V: The audio can he heard HERE, and the sheet music can be downloaded HERE
Goldilocks saw the Three Bears shopping in town so she headed for their house. There were three plates of grits on the table. She tried each dish. The first dish was too hot, the second was too cold, but the third was just right so she gobbled it up.
Next she sat in a chair. Clearly she had eaten the grits while standing up. The first chair was too big, the second was too small, but the third was just right but it soon collapsed because she had eaten too much.
Next she went into the bedroom to have a rest. The first bed was too lumpy, the second was too bumpy, and the third was too grumpy. Oh goodness me! Oh hell’s bells! Oh shock and horror! She had gone to the wrong house. The Three Giraffes were still in bed.
Heather was 84 when she discovered she had possibly been adopted. Her adopted parents were long dead, as indeed would have been her biological parents.
Her day had started as quite ordinary. She still had all her marbles and was active for her age. It was late morning when she went to check the mailbox. Her life was about to be turned upside down. Kitty, a dear friend and neighbour, had rather nonchalantly asked a few weeks back at what time was Heather born. Heather said she didn’t have a clue but it might be on the birth certificate. So she wrote away for a copy and on this day the birth certificate arrived.
There was no time of birth, but the couple named as her parents were not the parents she had known. In fact there were other little titbits of misinformation. The date was wrong by several days. In fact, the date was possibly correct. Heather had spent a life time wrongfully thinking her birthday was on the 12th whereas in fact it had been two days earlier on the 10th.
The place of birth was news to her as well. She had always presumed she was born in Thrushport, but the certificate clearly stated Sunnytown. And splashed across the information in another hand-writing was the word – ADOPTED.
But the biggest news of all was her name. She had always been called Heather; plain Heather and nothing else. The birth certificate clearly stated her name was Philomena Heather. Philomena! Clear as a bell – Philomena Heather Brighton.
“But Heather,” exclaimed Kitty the dear friend and neighbour. “Brighton is your married name!”
“This,” declared Heather, “almost certainly calls for a celebratory wine.”
Welcome to you’re final math exam of the acedemic yeah following a second yeah of lookdown’s and home educashun. Its wonderfooll to think that despite the trial’s and tribulation’s of these time’s the student’s of this world can hold their head’s high. Congratolashun’s on reaching doctoral standard’s in our education system. If you are having trouble reeding this get your grandmother to read it for you out llowd if you’re mother cant read.
There is only one question for yous to answer. Here it is!!!!!
Do you prefer Charlote Bromte or Jane Austains novels? Typ your answer below and state why you think these two “persons” never mentioned much about slave owners given the times in which they were riting. And did the characters identify their sexual preferences? Pleaze note that you only need to anser this question if you have read the books – otherwise leave the space below blank. When you are dune don’t forget to press SEND!!!!!!!!!
The teacher, Mrs Freud, didn’t think much of the new boy in her class. His name was Freddie. He was tall, skinny, and would spend most of his free time looking at an atlas. He didn’t go outside to play as did all the other boys in the class.
Mrs Freud encouraged Freddie to go outside and get some exercise but he didn’t. He just looked at the atlas. And then Mrs Freud insisted, so he left the atlas open on the Uzbekistan page and went grudgingly outside.
Years later Freddie was older and had one question left to answer in a television quiz show in order to win twenty million dollars.
“What is the capital of Turkmenistan?”
“Tashkent,” said Freddie.
“No,” said the compere, “the answer is Ashgabat.”
“That is the capital of Uzbekistan, not Turkmenistan,” said Freddie.
Freddie was the one with the wires crossed. If he hadn’t been sent outside to play by Mrs Freud he would have won the twenty million. However, he’s not going to make a fuss about it because he’s married to Mrs Freud’s daughter and his six kids adore their grandmother.
Upon the birth of her baby Desdemona was horrified: her baby had three eyes. Everyone said the baby looked like its father, but all that Desdemona could see were three eyes. It was indeed a deformity that couldn’t be corrected.
Only a few commented on the three eyes. Most were polite and coo-cooed at the “lovely baby”. But it wasn’t lovely; it was hideous. One or two offered a cruel joke by way of coping. Things like: Peek-a-boo, I see a twinkle in its eyes.
Eyes in society are not only for seeing; they are things of beauty. Eyes come in different colours. Some wear coloured contact lenses to complement their hair colouring. Some wear makeup – mascara and eye shadow and artificial eye lashes.
Desdemona and her husband came from different worlds. Her husband’s planet was renowned for its eyes. In fact her husband had eleven eyes and Desdemona had hoped that some of his genetic material would have rubbed off on wee Billie. It was disappointing. Despite his eleven-eyed father Billie would be saddled with only three eyes for a lifetime.