This night, this moon and along the Riverbank
The air so intoxicating
Making me go wild and frank
With thoughts my heart’s been hiding.

The stars above like diamonds spilled,
Reflect upon the stream,
My soul feels light, my silence filled
With every whispered dream.

The breeze it hums a lover’s tune,
Soft secrets in its sway,
And in the arms of this bold moon,
I drift so far away.

No walls, no masks, just raw and true,
I dance with all I feel—
This night, this moon, the river too,
Have made my spirit heal.

The sun breathes light on morning skies,
Wakes the world as darkness dies.
Soft and warm, it spreads its grace,
Smiling down on every face.

It touches leaves and blooming flowers,
Gives the trees their growing powers.
In its glow, the cold retreats,
Hearts beat strong in golden heats.

Over hills and across the sea,
It paints the world so brilliantly.
Every ray a hope so bright,
Chasing shadows, birthing light.

So when you feel lost or low,
Look where the sunny breezes blow.
The sun still breathes, the day is near—
A brand new chance is always here. 🌞

I want someone to fight for me,  
To stand their ground and never flee.  
To show I’m worth the love they give,  
And not just someone who forgives.  

Not by habit, not by fate,  
But with a heart that won’t hesitate.  
Choose me fully, choose me true,  
Like I would always choose you.

English is tricky, that much we know,
Its plurals and rules put on quite a show.
One lonely box becomes two or three,
Yet oxen, not oxes, roam wild and free.

A single goose may take to the sky,
But two are called geese—don’t ask me why.
A moose in the forest, grand and loose,
Yet more than one is never meese!

A mouse in the attic, a family of mice,
But houses aren’t hice—now, wouldn’t that be nice?
One single man, but a crowd full of men,
Still, no one has ever baked in a pen.

A foot turns to feet, a tooth into teeth,
But booths aren’t beeth? Good grief!
If this becomes these, then what about kiss?
Would a room full of love be a place full of keese?

A brother has brethren, so why not methren?
If father stands strong, why not a fethren?
And masculine pronouns—he, his, and him,
Yet she, shis, and shim just don’t fit in!

English is puzzling, quirky, absurd,
Its rules are uncertain, its logic unheard.
Yet somehow we learn it, though oft with a sigh,
And keep asking "but why, oh why?"

Criticism comes, both good and bad,  
Sometimes it's helpful, sometimes it's sad.  
It might feel harsh, like a sudden blow,  
But it helps you learn and makes you grow.  

Some people point, “That’s not so great!”  
And you might feel a little hate.  
But listen close, there’s gold in there,  
To fix mistakes and show you care.  

Yet some just speak to make you frown,  
Their only goal? To drag you down.  
Ignore those words that have no aim,  
Don’t let them dim your inner flame.  

So take the good, leave the rest,  
Use their words to be your best.  
Criticism, though it may seem tough,  
Can shape you strong, and that’s enough!