Daffodowndilly
She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
“Winter is dead.”
I have something that I call my Golden Rule. It goes something like this: 'Do unto others twenty-five percent better…
Literature is the noblest of all the arts. Music dies on the air, or at best exists only as a…
The bluebird carries the sky on his back.