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The Undergrowth.

You look into the undergrowth
From above you see nothing
But inside there are little animals
Which are living deep within

You donít see them in daylight
Cos they rarely make a sound they
sometimes hide in the undergrowth
Or burrow underground

Some blend in with the background
To help them to survive
They stay still when they sense you
Thatís how they stay alive

The forage through the undergrowth
To find things for their feed
They donít eat everything at once
They just take what they need

So please take care in the undergrowth
Where they have lived and fed
Cos if you damage their habitat
These animals will end up dead

Written by David Boyce © 7 September 2006


The Star

Across the Heavens, clear and bright,
Travelling through the velvet night,
A tiny star, a jewelled flame,
Came to Earth to learn again.

Many wonders did he see,
The teeming Earth, the boundless sea,
And all the creatures that dwelt therein,
The plants, the trees, the crawling things.

Other lights that came his way,
Taught him many things each day,
Of pain and tears and misery,
Joy and laughter and ecstasy.

With each pain his light grew dim
And bitterness made him dark and grim,
Till one day a small light sparked his flame,
And filled him with joy and love again.

As he learnt to care for his fellow stars,
His light spread out and shone afar,
Filling the sky with its rainbow rays,
And healing all who came his way.

The flame of love burnt bright as day,
And soon he had to be on his way,
Back to the source from whence he came,
Knowing that love alone can cure all pain.

By Susan Cates

Wales UK


The Sands of Time.

The sands of time are forever flowing
The tides of the sea are forever ebbing
We are like them in spirit.
Forever onward, Forever searching.

White Eagle.


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son! 

Rudyard Kipling.


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