There are no bars,
Its still a prison:



My little blue bird.
Softly sing in my ear
So your song may flood my person.

Amidst your music there is no wind,
Breezes cease around you.
Floating with my feathered friend on the quiet calms of desensitised  living.

I see of your gracefulness, other eyes are not so kind:
Brittle men and rigid woman.
They've never heard you sing.

Still my heart and close my eyes;
And Sing me all your lullabies.
Oh Little bird o' feathers blue,
In my ear shes hums her tune.


I beg dont fly, Stay at my side
a harsh world sits beneath you.
Without a song, i hear outside
The people make me lonely.

I need you back, come to my window,
And sing to me of empty days,
i recede at peace and just observe,
With numb songs from my little bird.

My little
blue, bird.
She only sings a single word.

May time please not forget her.

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!

I have a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep"
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,
It says "You must not laugh"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".

When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight".

"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask".

Moral: "You mustn't."

How I wonder what you're at!'You know the song, perhaps?" "I've heard something like it," said Alice. "It goes on, you know," the Hatter continued,
"in this way: -- --
'Up above the world you fly,
Like a teatray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle --'"

"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.

"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.

"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as **** a moth"

The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"

Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."

And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."

"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"

Moral: Never stew your sister.

We are a
******* now
Living together
After ages.

Me,my son
And my partner.

How can I describe
The joy
When I
Pack sandwiches
And strawberries
For the two of them
Together!