Sonnet 29 Novels & Stories

Ok Dad, we're here. When Miranda took off the blindfold,he stood there in awe. All the memories came back and he fell to his knees crying out loud. Everyone stood still, no one knew what to do. Miranda quickly helped her dad up and gave him a chair to sit on. Claudia brought him some water to drink. After he calmed down, he smiled at his daughters who were sitting on both sides of him. He cleared his throat and said "Sorry girls,I got a little emotional, I really miss your mother and I can't wait to see her again. Even though she is not here with us anymore,she's still in my heart always, she still lingers in my mind I feel her with every beat of my heart and every breath I take reminds me

Phoolon ka taron ka sabka kehna hai Ek hazaron mein meri behna hai Saari umar humein sang rehna hai x (2) Phoolon ka taron ka sabka kehna hai Jab se meri aankhon se ho gayi tu door Tab se saare jeevan ke sapne hain choor x (2) Aankhon mein neend na mann mein chaina hai Ek hazaron mein meri behna haiSaari umar humein sang rehna hai Phoolon ka taron ka sabka kehna hai Yeh na jaana duniya ne tu hai kyon udaas

On his grave, Rogers his father wrote with a radical poetic metre: Man’s bride has much, Much great power Over things that affect His fate and way. She gives him the crown Of shame or honour. She composes him live Or pass away to hell or heaven. She has the key to his rise and fall. She can clothe him with peace and all. She can bury him in sorrow, trouble fell. THE END THE END

"At the bustling sound of the frost early in the morning, I woke up from my sleep and it was still pitch black I sat by myself and gazed through my window at the moonlight that grows darker I worry the flowers I picked aside for my beloved will start to wither Under the stars in the long, long night Only the unfinished night seems to be passing. I see my beloved face from within those weeping willows. Even if I look and look at her, I don't seem to get enough. Even if she's standing under the bright moon in the dead of the night, the shadow of my beloved would come into my yard. A matchless beauty is left within my heart."

The days proceeded moody and leaves were falling, Yet you are still there to keep me aspiring, Those sleepless nights that you showed my worth, I thought you were truly down to earth, The days come cold, Same as your heart's constantly changing, You eventually manifested your true colours, Which it had given me tremendous dolours, With just a simple misunderstanding, We end up ravaging, To perceive that everything was in contentment, Though deep inside my soul there is a massive disenchantment. Every minute, Every day, Every week, Every month, You're still in my heart. Too much loneliness, Too much sickness, Too much suffering, Too much pain, I will still hold on for gain. The problems come,

And when the first five words left his lips, I could not explain how I felt because somehow we prepared the same vow. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs and with my childhood faith

"What is this?" She picked up the note and started to read it slowly. "When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars,

18 which I luckily read last night. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer’s lease hath...” I hear her voice fade in the background as my eyes feel heavier. I don’t know how long I slept last night but I know whatever amount I managed to sleep last night wasn’t enough for me.

Then I remember I don’t bowl. Scott Dear Sarah, I’ve done it. I’m reading a poem that I know I should have read years ago, but it’s just so damn long. There’s a bit of Italian at the beginning that basically translates to, “Listen up,” and then there’s this: Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats

The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.