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Literature Text
Be gentle with the rose
as you hold her in your palm.
Don't hold her too tight
or you'll bleed.
Her thorns will pierce your skin.
Hold her too light
and she'll fall to her death.
Her petals wilting along the way.
as you hold her in your palm.
Don't hold her too tight
or you'll bleed.
Her thorns will pierce your skin.
Hold her too light
and she'll fall to her death.
Her petals wilting along the way.
Literature
Autumn for the Forest King
That special chill was on the air again. He felt it weave through his branches and rattle the leaves on his antlers.
The king of the forest opened his knothole eyes and looked around. In the distance he could see wood smoke rising from the chimneys of nearby villages. Crops were nearly ready for harvest. Soon the feasting would begin. The trees were still a vibrant green, but he could feel their anticipation. They were ready for the change, and the long sleep that would follow. All they were waiting for was his command.
He stood with a creaking of wood and a crunching of bark, shook the leaves from his antlers, and raised his
Literature
Winter Heat, Summer Sleet
It's the middle of winter
And January's burning through,
Blurring into
February skies churning, becoming the color in my eyes
March is coming fast
And I know that its harsh winds cannot last
Yet I wonder if I'll still sing
When all becomes still at the end of spring
And heat sets in
Then will I long for this winter wind
To return to the land once again?
Literature
Ever after
she's the rustling leaves
in the springtime breeze that
puts my mind at ease-
the voice that grants me peace,
in knowing that winter is over
and the warmth is to return.
she's the chicken soup
on a chilly morning that
warms my heart-
the smell and flavour wafting
through our home, dreamlike
and permeating all this space.
she's the song playing in my ears,
the quiet lullaby that
brings me comfort at night-
her presence; music to my ears;
the sound of her walking by my side
put my fears to rest.
she's my favourite book
that never gets old, the one that
i never tire of reading-
the one where the words change meaning
as i age, the one that gr
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Just a little thing that came to mind. It's sort of a metaphor. I'd like to see everyone guess what it's a metaphor of.
© 2006 - 2024 slayerstephi
Comments12
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i'm liking this a lot it's something i recognize in some people. nice metaphor.