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I wrote this one back on July 6th of this year. I wrote it about my girlfriend and it's really an A for effort piece from me but I still see some redeeming qualities in it. I really tried to make this one work but it doesn't unfortunately.
A Poem for my Aloe
on the window sill sits a pretty little aloe.
a gentle potted plant with a very odd beauty.
and though its type seems to rise very, very slow,
that doesn't mean it will never, ever grow.
despite what the so called experts may say
the aloe requires more attention than just a drop
of water every other day as it's healthy for it to play.
but regardless it's a stubborn little thing to sway.
and while it struggles to stand very tall,
it is anyways beautiful, rigid and good for healing.
when I find myself heeding it's gorgeous birdsong call,
I have no problem being my aloe's little thrall.
because out in the sun my beautiful aloe
sits, certainly absorbing all the all the light it can,
persevering rain and thunder and wind and cold and snow,
holding inside its beautiful healthy water,
which is really why I love my little aloe.
Last thing I'll post is my favorite poem written by someone else.
A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,–act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labor and to wait.