Hey There

Hey there little thing
The phone is about to ring
Only one voice will be heard
And that will be your king

For once I was smart
Couldn’t fail my part
I got you a special gift
Not messing with your heart

A movie just came out
I have no idea what it’s about
Maybe we should check tonight
Since the idea is not in doubt

I sound like a Backstreet boy
Good thing I’m full of joy
You were found in bed last night
With a professor named Roy..

What I Have To Say

What I have to say is straight from the heart,
You may not have known it yet,
But i have loved you from the start,
From the moment our eyes first met,
I wanted to get to know you,
Please believe everything I say,
These feelings are so true,
I hope you feel the same way,
It’s time to make it official,
Let’s be together,
I don’t know how far we’ll go,
But I hope it last forever.

My Voice

WITHIN this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.

Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow hath paled my lip’s vermilion,
And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.
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Love

LOVE is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath.

A Bunch Of Roses

Roses ruddy and roses white,
What are the joys that my heart discloses?
Sitting alone in the fading light
Memories come to me here tonight
With the wonderful scent of the big red roses.
Memories come as the daylight fades
Down on the hearth where the firelight dozes;
Flicker and flutter the lights and shades,
And I see the face of a queen of maids
Whose memory comes with the scent of roses.

Visions arise of a scent of mirth,
And a ball-room belle who superbly poses —
A queenly woman of queenly worth,
And I am the happiest man on earth
With a single flower from a bunch of roses.

Only her memory lives tonight —
God in his wisdom her young life closes;
Over her grave may the turf be light,
Cover her coffin with roses white
She was always fond of the big white roses.

Such are the visions that fade away —
Man proposes and God disposes;
Look in the glass and I see today
Only an old man, worn and grey,
Bending his head to a bunch of roses.

By A B Banjo Paterson

Some burning noon go dry!

HAVE you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?
And nobody, knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.
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