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Why is this a poem?
Because it's magic.

Greetings,

On the third day before the Ides of September, sister,
for the day of the celebration of my birthday,
I send you a warm invitation to make sure you come to us,
to make the day more enjoyable by your presence.

Give my regards to your [husband] Cerialis.
My [husband] Aelius and my young son send their greetings.

I shall expect you, sister.
Farewell, sister, my dearest soul, as I hope to prosper.
This was written in the first century AD, in Latin, by the wife of the commander of the Roman fort of Vindolanda in present day Northern England, near Hadrian's Wall.
It was written on a thin piece of wood, postcard-size, and disposed of in a bonfire when the fort was evacuated. In the anaerobic conditions it survived and was excavated nearly 2000 years later.
This small soggy piece of wood was voted Britain's top treasure by experts at the British museum and by a public poll.
Nothing ventured
nothing gained

We'll feign the perfection
we never attained

Only memories ever can last
we'll postpone the future
to worship the past

Love me strong
in candle light

Pretend you do
stay tonight

The feeling I'll save
locked in my mind

Embrace me again
for the last time
We have a lot of love to give
But have to spread it thin
For just as one is turned around
It seems two more come in

If they stay here for too long
We see their hope begin to fail
Curled up in the corner
Eyes downcast, no waggy tail

Many tears have fallen down
For those who come to us alone
But you can turn a life around
By giving one a home
.
.
.
.
Remembering all the good work done by animal rescue centres, especially many tears animal rescue (manytearsrescue.org),  where we found our dog over 3 years ago. It is not only the dogs and other animals we feel for, but also the staff.
smiles and tears of joy
pride radiates from faces
nativity play
I've been sifting through
the scrawls and scribbles
written on some whim

passed by, not followed up
like lights that shine too dim

anyone can write a poem
it seems innate somehow
anyone can write a poem
except for me right now
you just did x
thank you Sonja, guess so :)
Amazing it was what Grandad would do
with a drop of oil or a bit of glue
Stopped watches, sticking locks
Faulty switches, zips on breeches
Kettles that wouldn't sing
Bells that wouldn't ring
He'd say let me have a look  my dear
Touch the pencil behind his ear
Adjust his specs, stick out his tongue
And in a jiff it was mended and done
But now he's not here to save us from sin
Anything broken goes straight in the bin
Originally filed under
sad little number
who's heart was broke
but...
you can now see me
in the sea
of your regret
happy doing the backstroke :)
They told you to fear forest fires.
They told you how dangerous it was.
How destructive.
But they didn't tell you how
it's the earth's way of renewing itself,
of ridding itself of the grit,
so it can rise anew.

I want a forest fire to take over my heart,
to let it burn the walls,
to purge the sorrow,
to take away the mud seeping through the cracks.
It will not be a pretty sight.
Flowers will be set ablaze.
It will destroy
but it will bear.

You will see me standing
in the middle of the trees reborn—
the one who set the forest ablaze,
the one who rose up in smoke.
Changed.
Radiating.
The wind at my command.
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