Twigs upon a footpath
Blown there from the trees
The wind blew strong with all it’s wrath
And it blew me to my knees
I landed in a puddle
My trousers ripped and torn
That’s just how life has treated me
Since the moment I was born
I guess I shouldn’t grumble
At least the trees still stands
And I’m kneeling in a puddle
With twigs all in my hands
Robert Frost
(1874 – 1963)
William Shakespeare
(1564 – 1616)
Maya Angelou
(1928 – 2014)
Pablo Neruda
(1904 – 1973)
Emily Dickinson
(1830 – 1886)
Langston Hughes
(1901 – 1967)
Rabindranath Tagore
(1861 – 1941)
William Wordsworth
(1770 – 1850)
Shel Silverstein
(1930 – 1999)
William Blake
(1757 – 1827)
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