satya - Thursday, August 10, 2006 10:00:43 AM

Poor Angus...

Oh what do you do, poor Angus,
When hunger makes you cry?
"I fix myself an omelet, sir,
Of fluffy clouds and sky."

Oh what do you wear, poor Angus,
When winds blow down the hills?
"I sew myself a warm cloak, sir,
Of hope and daffodils."

Oh who do you love, poor Angus,
When Catherine's left the moor?
"Ah, then, sir, then's the only time
I feel I'm really poor." 

Few more poems can be found here

satya - Thursday, February 08, 2007 10:19:44 AM

When I Was Your Age

My uncle said, "How do you get to school?"
I said, "By bus," and my uncle smiled.
"When I was your age," my uncle said,
"I walked it barefoot -- seven miles."

My uncle said, "How much weight can you tote?"
I said, "One bag of grain." My uncle laughed.
"When I was you age," my uncle said,
"I could drive a wagon -- and lift a calf."

My uncle said, "How many fights have you had?"
I said, "Two -- and both times I got whipped."
"When I was your age," my uncle said,
"I fought every day -- and was never licked."

My uncle asked, "How old are you?"
I said, "Nine and a half," and then
My uncle puffed out his chest and said,
"When I was your age...I was ten."