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Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Luis Carlos Marquez was born in Caracas, Venezuela in Twelve Farewell Poems: Selected Poems by [Marquez, Luis].
Table of contents

However, change is an unavoidable circumstance Things may change from this day on. Here with us is where you belong. Someone like you there is no other. You're the closest thing I have to a brother. I had my best friend commit suicide last year and it was hard for me.

Being a cutter, I know the feeling of being alone a lot and without friends. This poem is touching to me because if he Farewell words too often part And cleave with sorrow to aching hearts. With a final wave, all disappears Beneath the hush of silent tears. When I saw you in the hall, I knew you would be the best of all.

Paradise Lost : a Poem in Twelve Books - John Milton - Google Libros

I love the poem. It touched me. My best friend is also leaving for college today, and I am going to miss him so much. Emotions ran through my head. I found myself wishing I was dead All because you were moving away. I knew I would never see you another day. This poem really touched me.


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I found out yesterday that my best friend's parents divorced and his mom took him and his brother and sister and we don't know where he is. He was my best friend Though it's only been a short while, I've never had a friend like you, But soon you will be leaving me, And I don't know what to do. I have a best friend who I started talking to in February of this year.

I met him in person September 1, After that we hardly talk.

Goodbye Poems for Friends: Farewell Poems in Friendship

I miss the way we would talk before we met in person The time soon comes for parting, And our time is at an end. The rest of your life is starting, And we have no time at all to spend. I'm moving away to a different country to start high school and continue my life. This means that I'll be leaving my best friend behind.

We could talk over the internet, but I don't think Breathe in deep.

Take a Moment

And there in those wild bowers A lovely form is laid; Green grass and dew-steeped flowers Wave gently round her head. And long green weeks That never end. The time Is ours to spend. Today the queen ant and her lovers took their nuptial flight, scattering upwards like a handful of cracked black peppercorns thrown in the face of a bear, the bear being in this case a simile for the population of Lewisham and Hither Green.

There is an increasingly common assertion online that the winged of every ant nest in Britain take off on the same bright morning. This says less about ants than it does about the state of media in which we place ourselves: connected enough to hear and repeat all claims and verify some, yet prone to confirmation bias owing to algorithms which favour new expressions of that which we already hold to be true.

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Myth moves in step with commerce. When merchant ships arrived once per season from the Orient they brought silk and saffron and stories of dog-sized ants which mined gold and took to the sky only to defend their treasure from camel-riding thieves. Now we receive the exotic via fibre optics as a stream of high frequency trades. They lie as wanton as they fall, and where they fall and break, the stallion clamps his crunching jaws, the starling stabs his beak.

Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear —. Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July.

Ever drifting down the stream — Lingering in the golden gleam — Life, what is it but a dream? Read more poems by Lewis Carroll.


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Here come real stars to fill the upper skies, That though they never equal stars in size, And they were never really stars at heart Achieve at times a very star-like start. Home Blogs Literary Twelve summer poems. Twelve summer poems A selection of our favourite poems about the warmest season. The solstice on 21st June marks the official beginning of summer; a season for beach trips, long evenings, and invariably, some great British weather.

What I saw Was Adlestrop—only the name And willows, willow-herb, and grass, And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry, No whit less still and lonely fair Than the high cloudlets in the sky. A Fairy speaks. A bower is a dwelling place or once it was a cage for pent-up singing birds. White heat.