When you come across with things you trashed in the past...... old wounds ache. So you might as well shift to the advantages of searching.
I found one that reminds me of my childhood.
I used to recite poems in my grader days. One of my grade school teachers found out I can recite and declame... so the school saw an opportunity to compete in inter school declamation and oration competitions and as expected, I went as the representative. I was forced! Hahahahaha
It was so easy to force a child who views the world as a big movie screen and she, a little ugly duckling trying to make singhap in a cruel world in metro manila.
Honestly, I hate reciting poems! I cried for every line I memorized. I may have cried a drum of tears then for memorizing 15 declamation pieces and 5 orations... not including the poems being recited for classroom activities.
blurred na sa kalumaan....
Anyway... there is one poem I cannot forget.... I even painted its interpretation on the wall of my house..and I also came across it in on my search...... actually I was only searching in the net on " How To Cook A Perfect Hotcake" !!!!!!!!!!
Sham!! What a findings !! And here it is...
The Solitary Reaper
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;—
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
-William Wordsworth
............." Will no one tell me what she sings?
the music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more."
