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Post by ***Stormchaser*** on Jan 4, 2010 13:43:16 GMT -5
Ok that's not the actual title of this poem but I don't know the title for it and I did not write thid poem and I do not owne it but I think it's amazing. This poem was written by an eight year old boy that died in a comcentration camp during WWII, his name is unknown.
********************************************************************************* He doesn’t know the world at all, who stays in his nest and doesn’t go out He doesn’t know what birds know best nor what I sing about, that the world is full of loveliness When dewdrops sparkle in the grass and Earth is a flood with morning light A blackbird sings upon the roof to meet the dawning after night Hey, try to open your heart to beauty Hey, go to the woods Sunday and weave a wreath of memory there And if teardrops obscure your way you’ll know how wonderful it is to be alive
********************************************************************************* My chorus teacher had us write about our thoughts on it and I don''t understand how he could have thought of the world this way while he was suffering and had probably lost his faimly. I am sorry that this is not a story but it was the only place I could think of to put it and I thought it would be cool to put it up.
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Post by BeautifulDisaster on Jan 5, 2010 20:25:05 GMT -5
I LIKE IT
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Post by ***Stormchaser*** on Jan 5, 2010 20:35:34 GMT -5
i do too, it's so pretty
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Post by BeautifulDreamer on Jan 7, 2010 7:19:55 GMT -5
O.O OOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooo PERTA
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Post by ***Stormchaser*** on Jan 8, 2010 17:57:41 GMT -5
perta?
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Post by BeautifulDreamer on Jan 9, 2010 20:57:21 GMT -5
^^ my way of saying prity
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Post by ***Stormchaser*** on Jan 9, 2010 21:56:14 GMT -5
oh ok
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Post by BeautifulDreamer on Jan 16, 2010 17:39:53 GMT -5
^^
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