Classic poem of the day
A MONG the garden walks of Proserpine,
Love, I will wait for you until your eyes
Are wearied of the sad monotonous skies,
And till you have drained the last cup of life's wine.
You bade me wait since to this love of mine
Might no responsive love within you rise.
I waited long: and now being one who dies,
Go hence to linger at a duskier shrine.
I had no will but yours; I gave to you
My life, albeit for all that I could do
You woul......
Member poem of the day
My family and I
dodged
rocks and bottles
flung at us by a mob of hateful strangers
when I was just eight
after attending a school where my siblings and I
were the minority race.
Thought we would die --
I didn't know why it wasn't right
that ...
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