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There's a place called Far-away Meadow
We never shall mow in again,
Or such is the talk at the farmhouse:
The meadow is finished with men.
Then now is the chance for the flowers
That can't stand mowers and plowers.
It must be now, through, in season
Before the not mowing brings trees on,
Before trees, seeing the opening,
March into a shadowy claim.
The trees are all I'm afraid of,
That flowers can't bloom in the shade of;
It's no more men I'm afraid of;
The meadow is done with the tame.
The place for the moment is ours
For you, oh tumultuous flowers,
To go to waste and go wild in,
All shapes and colors of flowers,
I needn't call you by name.
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Comments
Arnold Evans says: March 1, 2011 at 3:55 pmYes, but then that opens the leaders of Islamic Republic to the quietson: Then why have you been doing this since 1980 and cause all these dissidents to be created? To which they could have no answer.Athough Mr. Abtahi last year did apologize for his mideeds but only after he was put in jail and tasted his owm medicine.
Lauty from Tanzania