Classic poem of the day
We who were born
In country places,
Far from cities
And shifting faces,
We have a birthright
No man can sell,
And a secret joy
No man can tell.
For we are kindred
To lordly things,
The wild duck's flight
And the white owl's wings;
To pike and salmon,
To bull and horse,
The curlew's cry
And the smell of gorse.
Pride of trees,
Swiftness of streams,
Magic of frost
Have shaped our dreams:
......
Member poem of the day
In the shade of the broad-leafed avocado
the aged men spend their time
in the naming of teas.
Yellow maté of their own mountains.
From the lowlands sweet rice tea,
thick with the taste of heavy air.
Teas from the foreign shop on the square:
Souchong, Gen Mai Cha, Earl Grey
in blue tins, Darjeeling in green.
In the naming of such teas the tongue
caresses unfamiliar lands, to smell
them is to know their earth and sky.
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